


Served Cold

by Concolor



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M, Journals, personal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4947979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Concolor/pseuds/Concolor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Duke of Weselton wasn't finished with Arendelle or its Queen. Not by a long shot. But he wasn't prepared for the fallout. What constitutes revenge to some may be justice to others, and no one could anticipate what might happen if Elsa is pushed over the edge.</p>
<p>If you love Elsa or Anna or Kristoff or happy endings ... you should go read something else. I'm serious. Writing this allowed me to remove a rabid monkey from my back, nothing more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

_Elsa had known fear, and it had nearly ended Arendelle_

__

_until she learned that love could drive out fear._

_But what, apart from sating it, can drive out a thirst for revenge?_

_Rated for some truly horrific occurrences._

  


. . .

. . .

** Chapter 1 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 10, 1843  ** Arendelle Castle _

Seldom had Elsa been quite this content with her life.

Anna and her newly-minted Baron of a husband, the Royal Ice Master of Arendelle, were on their long-anticipated honeymoon trip around the kingdom, a sort of combination vacation and goodwill tour that would take them through the majority of the villages to the north and east of the capitol. A contingent of eight of the Queen’s Own Guard accompanied the happy couple and their half-dozen retainers, but no one really thought that was necessary. Everyone loved Anna. The entire kingdom had celebrated her marriage (wildly, in a few cases) and everyone was looking forward to her visits. She also carried with her a flawless sphere of magical ice in a padded chest, so that Anna could give daily reports after each stop, her enthusiastic descriptions never failing to make Elsa smile. She fairly basked in her little sister’s happiness.

The evening before, however, Anna had failed to open the chest and talk to the ice. Elsa was more disappointed than worried, figuring Anna had simply been too caught up in her fun to take the time to speak with her old fuddy-duddy of a sister. It was also possible that she and Kristoff had decided that ‘conjugal bliss’ took precedence (they were, after all, on their honeymoon). Elsa looked forward all the more to the next day’s message.

But instead of the anticipated call, a ragged, bloody young soldier of Weselton rode up to the gates just after dusk and fell from his horse.

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 11, 1843 – 6:30am ** Arendelle Castle _

Doctor Odum, the palace physician, had stitched up the young soldier’s wounds (the piece of a crossbow bolt in his back had been particularly worrisome), popped his shoulder back into its socket, splinted his broken leg, and rubbed a soothing salve into his hundreds of bruises and contusions, so that when he regained consciousness the first time he didn’t feel QUITE as if he’d arrived in Arendelle via avalanche. His first choked, scratchy words were, “Queen Elsa.”

She came, Kai trailing in her wake, and sat beside his sickbed and listened as he told his tale.

“My name … is Brian Morris. I got … I joined the army … my cousin, Alfred got me in. Had to lie … about my age. They won’t let you in … unless you’re seventeen. But Ma died. Uncle didn’t … want …”

“Brian. What happened? Why did you need to talk to me?”

He sighed deeply, his mournful eyes staring at the Queen. “You’ll probably have me killed. But I just don’t care anymore.”

“Mr. Morris! Why did you come here?”

Swallowing with some difficulty, he took a sip of beer and began his tale.

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 9, 1843 – 1:30am ** Aard, on Arendelle’s northern coast _

Stuck, as he was, in the hold with all the rest of the Regulars, Brian couldn’t see anything … not that he would have been able to even if he were on deck, given that a heavy overcast left the whole coast in pitch darkness. Truthfully, the entire trip had been four days of multiple miseries, evil beads strung together on a strand of sea-sickness that simply refused to go away. Worm-ridden hard tack, moldy jerky, and sour beer comprised most of their meals – not that he could usually keep it down. It was next to impossible to sleep, since as the youngest member of the company he didn’t rate a hammock. The more experienced soldiers jeered and derided him, comparing his sparse, fine facial hair to that of an old whore, and pointing out over and over which end of his spear was the dangerous part. His cousin was among the worst offenders.

But now, finally – FINALLY – they were going to land. Silently he promised himself he’d build a bridge and WALK back to Weselton before boarding that thrice-damned ship again. But they didn’t get off right away.

There was a contingent among the soldiers, a score of men who wore a plainer uniform, who carried more and different weapons, whose scarred faces and steel-hard eyes set them apart. Someone had muttered something about “sell-swords”, so Brian knew these were mercenaries. What he couldn’t understand (yet) was why they were even needed. After all, as Alfred had assured him, the only thing they were doing was securing a beachhead on a spit of land that Arendelle had stolen from Weselton. They weren’t even expecting any resistance from the locals.

But the mercenaries were the only ones to disembark, and they did so as silently as shadows. The rest of the men had already been warned about noise (“You whore-sons make a peep an’ it’ll be fifty lashes for the lot o’ ye!”) and so they crouched or stood in the darkness, waiting for what they knew not.

About an hour later a signal passed through and the rest of them made their way out to the longboats.

Once ashore (blessed, blessed solid ground!) they all marched quickly over to a small village. Three of the mercenaries carried lanterns, but they were shaded and so only gave a small amount of light to the immediate area. Still, Brian could see none of the villagers. Maybe the mercenaries had gathered them up? He didn’t have long to think about it, as they were all directed into one of five houses, the sixty men crowded in so close to each other that standing was the only option.

He got pushed to the back, where it was truly too dark to see his hand in front of his face, and stumbled over something on the floor, going to his knees and flailing out with his arms to keep from injuring himself. But then he stopped, becalmed. It was a man. He’d stumbled over, and landed upon, a man … specifically, a dead man. His hand, where it had fallen against the man’s chest, came away wet and sticky.

Recoiling in horror, he jerked back, knocking into one of the other soldiers, and receiving a cuff to the ear and a low curse for his trouble. Gasping, “There’s a dead man here!” he tried to get the others to see. But then it hit him, hard, that they already knew.

The village hadn’t been captured. It had been slaughtered.

Brian pushed and slid and scraped his way to where he could see out a window. The score of mercenaries were huddled around the town’s well, and looked like they were … yes, they were dressing themselves in the clothes of the murdered villagers. Sick with dread, Brian knew that something even worse was probably coming, if all this was just the set-up. He slumped against a wall and tried to rest.

Dawn came. Someone passed around a bag of hard tack, and this time Brian’s ravenously empty stomach didn’t revolt. The worms, he reflected philosophically, were just protein. He chewed thoroughly and swallowed and thought about other things.

Around mid-morning they started hearing the approach of a mounted company, and the creak of wheels. Though curtains had been drawn over the windows to hide their presence, Brian was able to see out a little. He wished he hadn’t.

There were ten men on horses, eight dressed in green-and-purple uniforms, and a large open carriage with six more people in it, half of them women. The disguised mercenaries trotted out to meet them, pretending to be a welcoming committee. They milled around, getting in among the guards, shaking hands and making deferent motions, until they were all in place. Ten quick sword thrusts took care of the horsemen. Then there was a lot of screaming. That’s when the doors opened and the soldiers began to file out into the town square.

. . .

. . .


	2. Chapter 2

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 2 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** September 4, 1843 – 1:00pm ** Arendelle Castle _

As she made her methodical way from the Local Court Chamber to the East Dining Room, Elsa came to an intersecting hall, noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye and stopped dead. Slowly, carefully, almost casually, she gave a quarter-turn of her head.

Not six paces away, Anna stood in bare feet by one of the tall windows, staring out toward the harbor. Lank strands of her hair hung down over her shoulders. She was wearing that green traveling dress again. Though the various rips and tears had been expertly repaired, the blood stains had never washed out, and with the way Anna had grabbed it and clung to it, Elsa hadn’t had the heart to simply return the garment to the pile with the rest of the donations, no matter what memories it carried. Her hands hanging limply, the slightest frown had settled over Anna’s light-teal eyes as she scanned the various ships moored there. Her lower lip began to tremble.

Elsa very gently turned to face her sister, then drew a breath and said in just over a whisper, “Anna?”

The girl jerked, fisted hands flying up to cover her lips, and turned her intense gaze on the Queen. Neither one made any move toward the other for a quarter minute.

Finally Elsa sighed. “It’s good to see you out of your room.”

Two silent steps backward came before Anna whirled and sprinted away down the corridor, disappearing around the corner.

Elsa walked over and leaned against the wall, her head down, fighting back her tears.

“My Queen?”

Looking up into Kai’s deeply-lined face, Elsa stood and squared her shoulders. “Kai. Had you known Anna was out walking?”

“No, Majesty.” His surprise was tempered with caution. “Here?”

“Just now.”

“My goodness. Is that … might that be a … a _good_ sign?”

“… She ran away from me.”

Nothing passed across Kai’s mind that seemed suitable as an answer to that.

After a few silent moments, Elsa cleared her throat and asked, “Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, um … yes.” He handed her an envelope. “This came for you this morning.”

She looked at the seal pressed into the wax and a puzzled frown overtook her features. “It’s from Corona.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

She cocked an eye at him. “Ship or courier?”

“By ship, Majesty.”

“It’s at least five days from here to Corona, even with a fair wind.” She did a quick mental calculation and nodded. “Any other missives, Kai?”

“No, Mum.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

Kai bowed and strode off.

Elsa continued walking the rest of the way to the Dining Room, but lingered by a window in the small antechamber, staring at the letter. It was the work of but seconds to break the seal and extract the parchment. Sapphire eyes scanned her aunt’s elegant script as she muttered, “She must have written it almost as soon as she got back.”

_ My Dear Elsa, _

_ I do hope this letter finds you well. Fall is picking up here, and every tree in the kingdom is trying to outdo the rest for color. Rapunzel, of course (once I shared with her the news that Anna had awakened from her coma) is getting into the whole autumn spectacle. She’s been taken by that rush of energy that sometimes comes before quickening; I discover wreathes of bright leaves everywhere. Unfortunately the late pollen has poor Thomas in quite a state. He spends most days in his study. _

_ I trust that by the time you have an opportunity to respond to this note, Anna will have improved greatly. I’m sure Arendelle will be much more spirited with her lively vitality back in the castle. _

The Queen whispered, “Vitality?” and fought down the tightness in her throat. Though her Aunt had spent close to two weeks in Arendelle, she’d only been apprised of a few superficial details of Anna’s ordeal, so she could be forgiven her optimism. Having confronted the problems head on, Elsa knew better. Wiping briefly at her eyes, she drew a long breath and read on.

_ I had also hoped to persuade you on another topic: lifting the Winter from Weselton. Elder Mason brought a report back from there, and it distressed me more than I can say. That Duchy is in quite a state, and you must know that most of the subjects had nothing to do with that horrible Duke’s actions … _

Elsa’s eyes grew harder than her ice.

_ … and it will not be long before the poor among them – and there are quite a few – begin to run out of fuel and freeze to death. Weselton’s usual seasons are milder than yours, my dear. Surely the doom that you brought upon their royal house was enough! Elder Mason has slept ill since his return, for the nightmares he suffers from the memories … _

Parading unbidden across Elsa’s mind was a quick flash of men screaming in the distance, of Weselton’s bay, frozen into an endless forest of jagged spikes … but a few quick blinks brought her back to the present. She focused again on the letter.

_ … memories of his few days there. He also carried the news that Avalon’s ambassador had tried to enlist his aid in communicating with you. As you are aware, Weselton and Avalon are allies – of a sort – and they do have a mutual-support treaty. Now obviously, Avalon sending troops to Weselton at this juncture would do no one there any good. There is no enemy to fight except the weather, and little they can do about that. But Elder Mason was of the opinion that Avalon might decide to take matters into their own hands, as it were, possibly even erecting a blockade around Arendelle. _

“You are late with your news, Aunt Prim,” Elsa murmured, thinking briefly of the four Avalonian warships currently resting in pieces on the ocean’s floor not far from the entrance to Arendelle’s fjord. The crews had spent the last few days cooling their heels on a small island about two leagues north of the fjord. Elsa had a dispatch sent to Crown Prince Philip of Avalon to apprise him of the situation. Those sailors would have quite a tale to tell, and if Philip was as shrewd and prudent a man as she knew him to be, she’d hear no more from that quarter. She turned her attention back to the letter.

_ Elsa, dear, it is only that I worry for you. As a child you had such a tender heart. You may recall that Rapunzel regaled us with tales of your self-sacrifice following the events of your coronation, and I’d hoped that – ah, me, I still hope that wise, caring woman will win out over the loss and pain that you must surely (and justly) feel. I think that if you ask Anna, she would agree with me. Truthfully, though, I cannot say that I wouldn’t feel the same, had an enemy done something similar to us. But still, I appeal to your compassion for those innocents caught up in situations not of their will. Please lift the Winter for the sake of –  _

_ But I will say no more. I must trust your judgment. _

_ Rapunzel sends her love and says to tell you that their son is walking now. It is early yet to be sure, but young Nathaniel seems to have received the better traits from both her and Eugene. Truly, grandchildren are a treasure! Perhaps when Anna is feeling up to it she can come for a visit and finally meet your new cousin. I’m sure the change of scenery would do wonders for the poor girl. _

_ For that matter, a bit of travel might do you good as well. Frequently it is hard, unrewarding work, being Queen Regnant, and I know you tend to drive yourself. It was ever thus. You have dear Agdar’s overblown sense of responsibility for every tiny thing that goes on in the kingdom, God rest his soul. _

_ Please do respond though, and let me know how dear Anna is doing. Know that she (and you!) are in our prayers daily, as I hope we are in yours. _

_ \--- Primrose 28 Aug, 1843 _

Elsa leaned her head back against the stone and let her eyes fall shut. Truthfully? She hadn’t prayed a single time since recovering Anna. Not once. She couldn’t yet bear the thought of communicating with a God who would allow what had happened to Anna. Earthquakes, floods, fires, storms, drought, plague, even war … these she could understand, at least to a degree, since they were part of what could be considered the natural order of things (or at least the logical result of the hubris of Man). But Anna was the dearest, bravest, sweetest … and to permit such wickedness, to allow such monsters to draw breath …

Several minutes passed before she had regained enough control of her expression that she felt comfortable going in to dine. Privately, she wasn’t at all sure – not anymore – that God even existed. Or if He did, that He cared in the least about His creation. This was yet another secret she’d not shared with anyone. That list was getting long.

After a brief, lonely meal, she prepared another plate, which she herself carried up to Anna’s room. A small, wheeled serving cart stood beside her door, already set with a short, blunt fork and a spoon. (They had learned not to leave sharp objects lying around where Anna could get to them unobserved.) She set the plate on the cart and tapped lightly on the door. “Anna? I’ve brought you some lunch.”

Silence.

Swallowing hard, Elsa added, “Chef Eland made that pot roast you like so well, and the thick gravy you prefer. And there’s a parsnip casserole and a lovely trio of soft buns, and … and …” Three quick hard breaths and tightly clenched eyes help her carry on. “… and he made a honey cake for you, with cream cheese frosting.” Anna’s **extreme** aversion to chocolate was now well known, as was the reason behind it, and everyone in the castle was careful to make sure she was never exposed to it. At all.

Silence.

“Okay. I’ll just … I’ll leave it here for you. Okay? It’s covered. It should stay warm for a bit.” Backing off a couple of steps, she continued, “I’ll just go now. Okay? And you can … get it when you’re … ready.”

Elsa managed to make it to the far end of the hall before her sobs overtook her.

. . . 

. . .


	3. Chapter 3

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 3 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** September 15, 1843 – 2:10am ** Arendelle Castle _

The hideous shrieking from the room beside hers woke Elsa instantly. She was out of bed and running before the echoes of the first cry had died.

About three weeks after her coronation, Elsa had moved out of her room and into the royal apartments her parents had occupied prior to their deaths three years earlier. She and Anna had talked it out at length. There was no love lost for her old room (it felt more like a prison cell now than any sort of safe space) and every reason to make the transition. It gave her a new perspective and reinforced the fact that she was now Queen Regnant.

After Weselton’s violence, and Anna’s subsequent return, Elsa had taken up residence in the suite beside her sister’s room. Then, at the end of Aunt Primrose’s visit, when the redhead first began to respond (and the castle medical staff began to ascertain some of the extent of the damage to her mind) Elsa took to sleeping in the room with her. That only lasted two nights, until Anna ferociously attacked the sleeping Queen, apparently hallucinating that she was someone else.

Still, Elsa wouldn’t go far. She desperately desired to ‘be there’ for Anna, just as Anna had been her hero three years before. That had a negative effect on Elsa’s sleep patterns, given Anna’s regular night terrors, but she coped.

Sometimes Anna refused all human contact. Sometimes she needed Elsa to hold her while she spent an hour or three or five crying. No one could ever predict which way it would go, but Elsa was flexible. And if that meant she had to have an early-afternoon nap the next day, well … she WAS the Queen. Who was going to tell her she couldn’t?

Two nights ago, Anna had interspersed her crying jag with several broken sentences about the horror she’d gone through. Last night was one of her touch-me-not episodes. Tonight, though, the only thing she said – over and over – was, “Kristoff … Kristoff … no … please … no … not Kristoff …” She clung to Elsa as if her sister were the only thing keeping her from falling into the Abyss. Perhaps she was.

Elsa tried not to think about what had been done to Kristoff. But Anna’s grief pulled the memory to the front of her mind …

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 11, 1843 – 6:50am ** Arendelle Castle _

Brian Morris was obviously laboring to hold onto consciousness. “I was … it was …” He panted a few times, licked his lips, drew a long breath. “I sicked up.”

Frost was coming and going on surfaces all over the room. “Mr. Morris,” said Elsa, her voice a hollow, trembling ghost of itself, “could you … see who was in the carriage?”

It took him a moment to work up the strength to answer. “No … but I heard … somebody say … Princess …”

Grasping what was left of her sanity by the merest threads, Elsa said, “You have to tell me! What happened to Anna?”

He didn’t seem to be hearing her, and his voice got very faint. “Alfred said … Duke planned it. I tried …” He trailed off, his breathing ragged. “tried to … run away.” His eyes slid shut. “Alfred … knocked me … down.”

When he didn’t say anything else for a few moments, Elsa leaned over and grabbed his shoulders and cried, “Brian! What happened to Anna?!?”

“Your Majesty, please!” begged the physician. “Let me look to him!” He had noticed two of the blood stains beginning to spread. “I may need to re-stitch his wounds! Please!”

Elsa stood and paced.

And paced.

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 11, 1843 – 7:45am ** Arendelle Castle _

The Council of Elders convened as quickly as they could and then dispatched half the Royal Marines to Aard, though they all suspected strongly that it would do no good. The mood throughout the castle grew somber. Elsa ran to her father’s old study, grabbed his largest telescope, climbed the northeast section of the city wall so that she was well away from any habitations, and then grew a towering spire of ice, upon which she perched. When it reached some two hundred man-heights tall (and began to sway a bit in the breeze) she took the telescope and spent half a minute locating the speeding troop of Marines. Then she turned it toward where she knew Aard must be, frowning when she realized that a series of hills would obscure her view.

It was intolerable.

Finally admitting defeat, she rode the spire down as it quickly shrank to sparkles and mist, and trudged back to the infirmary.

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 11, 1843 – 8:20pm ** Arendelle Castle _

Having slept like the dead all day, Brian Morris came blearily to himself not long before dusk, and Elsa was immediately called to his side. After taking a little thin gruel and a few sips of beer, he lay back and gathered his strength. “What … day is it?”

“Tues-.” She cleared her throat. “Tuesday. Tuesday the eleventh. Do you remember what you were telling me earlier?”

Sad eyes held hers for several beats before he sighed and nodded.

“P-please continue.” She couldn’t keep the tremors out of her voice.

“I’m … so sorry. So … terribly sorry.”

For the briefest of moments, the Queen lost her temper, and screamed, “Just get it over with!”

He flinched at her voice, then flinched harder at a few of his pains, but nodded again. “They took … the carriage. Killed the man-servants … the-the women, they … they …”

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 9, 1843 – 10:15am ** Aard _

Shrieks of pain and fear from the two hand-maidens nearly did him in. Briefly (very briefly) he thought about trying to stop it. No woman should be treated the way … no **_human_** should ever … but a not-quite-sixteen-year-old boy against hardened mercs? That ship was sunk before it left the dock.

One woman just slumped to her knees as the mercenaries held her arms behind her, but the other one fought, and fought hard. She nailed one of the men in the groin. The man next to him drew his sword and slashed it across her throat; blood sprayed as she folded over. He turned to the woman on the ground, and said, “Too bad. Twice the work for you, then.” She didn’t do anything but sob as two of them ripped her dress open.

On hands and knees and retching violently, Brian received a vicious kick in his side. “Get up, you worthless pup! At least try to ACT like a man.”

He couldn’t _believe_ it. He just _couldn’t_. The Army of Weselton had a long and storied history of glorious battles and feats of valor. They followed an ancient, knightly code. They protected the land, the people, the sanctity of their nation … not **this!** This was nothing but the cold-blooded murder of innocents! The impossibility of the situation robbed him of reason … save that the evidence was staining the cobblestones red in front of his eyes.

He focused on the body of the slain hand-maiden. She’d been fair, but now her black hair spilled across the ground, soaked with blood from her open throat, unseeing brown eyes staring skyward. Turning his gaze to his cousin, who was drawing back his leg for another kick, he sputtered, “Why? Why kill them?”

“Duke’s orders.” The heavy boot came in, bowling him over. “Now get back in rank and stop embarrassing me.”

Climbing painfully to his feet, Brian dragged an arm across his mouth, staring at the mercenaries, and then at the Princess. Even under these awful circumstances, he was struck by her beauty. But she cried and wept and clung to her husband as they were dragged from the carriage. The Prince tried to fight, but he didn’t have a weapon. They quickly overwhelmed him, one of them knocking him half-senseless. Three of them held Anna while four more frog-marched Kristoff over to the side of a storage building. Before he could shake off the effects of the cudgel, they held him spread-eagle against the rough wood and two of them rammed their bayonets through his forearms, pinning him in place.

Anna’s scream split the morning.

Brian backed away, turned, and ran. But he didn’t get far. Something sharp and heavy knocked his legs out from under him, and then Alfred was on him, pummeling him over and over and over. “Useless sack o’ shite! Don’t know …” _whamwham_ “… why I ever thought …” **_wham_** _wham_ “… you could be a soldier.” _whamwham **wham** wham **wham**_ “You got no more guts than a dead dog.”

Trying to defend his head with his arms, Brian grunted, “This isn’t soldiering! This is murder!”

“This is followin’ the Duke’s orders, and you’ll stand up like a man and like it or stand up on the gallows for desertion. Now get back there!”

Shaking his head as best he could, Brian insisted, “I don’t want no part o’ this! You’re all crazy!”

Alfred stared at him hard, then backhanded his head into a rock on the ground. Dizzy and disoriented, it took Brian a minute to determine that his cousin was tying him up, and by then it was too late to do anything about it. Alfred dragged him back to the town square. He got a couple of the others to help him tie Brian to a handy post, faced so he could see everything. The young man’s face burned with shame at what he saw.

Four of the monsters (he’d stopped thinking of them as men) held the remaining handmaiden on the ground while another jammed himself into her … though she didn’t seem to be making any effort at a struggle. Her face was … blank. The man grunted in surprise, “Hey, she’s cherry!”

One of the others laughed, “Not anymore.”

Four more held Anna, directly in front of where Kristoff hung from his makeshift cross. She screamed and cried and called his name again and again while three of the mercenaries beat him. They kept it up for several minutes; stoically, Kristoff didn’t do more than grunt. That seemed to upset the ones beating him. One of them got a long iron bar, square and maybe an inch across, and used it to break Kristoff’s left leg with one well-placed blow below the knee. He did cry out at that, and coughed up a little blood as well.

But he never blacked out.

. . .

. . .


	4. Chapter 4

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 4 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 11, 1843 – 8:45pm ** Arendelle Castle _

Sweat beaded on the young soldier’s brow and lip. His voice had grown progressively weaker over the last few minutes, just as Elsa’s fear and dread and revulsion ramped steadily upward. When he grew quiet and stayed that way for a quarter minute, she leaned toward him and gripped his hand. “Brian! Is … is Anna alive?”

He turned his face her way, blinked at her intensity. “Think so … Alfred said … Duke … wanted her … alive.”

Elsa discovered that she could draw a breath. “And the Prince?”

He didn’t say anything for a few breaths, marshalling his strength (and courage) to speak. “They made him watch … while they took turns at the Princess.”

The Queen’s mouth opened and closed twice. “Took turns? Doing what?”

A lone tear slid slowly down the side of his face. He swallowed twice. “Raping her.”

Kai and the physician caught Elsa when she fainted. 

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 11, 1843 – 9:40pm ** Arendelle Castle _

Elsa came to after nearly an hour, rushing from her bed back to the infirmary. The door slammed against the wall when she stormed in. “Brian Morris! You will tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”

And though he was feverish, and nearly too sore to be coherent, he did.

He told her how Anna was stripped naked and tied down to a wagon, the rough ropes spreading her legs wide.

He described how the mercenaries had laughed at Kristoff’s wild threats and his frenzied efforts to get loose, and how one of them had told him to be quiet and then used a huge pair of pliers to crush his lower jaw. Then he patted Kristoff’s head and said, “Shhhh. There, there. You’ll get your turn. Shhhh.”

He told how the mercenaries went at Anna first …

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 9, 1843 – 10:50am ** Aard _

Each of the previous six nights, Anna had shared her body with Kristoff, the initial tentative touches and explorations giving way after a time to gasps and moans of deep pleasure. It had been wonderful.

She had never suspected that a similar set of physical actions, under vastly different circumstances, could hurt so horribly.

Not that she had made any attempt to keep count, especially after one of the monsters mashed Kristoff’s beautiful face, but she thought, sort of, that maybe ten or a dozen of them had violated her by this point. Having blacked out twice from the pain, she couldn’t be sure. They were doing the same to Brigid, who just lay quietly on the ground with her eyes closed.

The sting of the smelling salts brought her around again … and again, her only thought was of Kristoff. Why were they doing this? She had screamed and cried this question, among many others, but their evil cackling gave her no kind of answer. She had to get free, somehow … had to get to Kristoff, free him, get him away and to a doctor …

“Hold off, Ivan.”

It was the first time she’d heard one of them use another one’s name. A tiny fragment of hope bloomed. Were they done? Were they going to take the valuables and leave now?

“Damn it, Sarge, the rest of you …”

“Cut the shit. You know the Duke won’t pay us if she’s dead. He wants her cowed, not fucked to death. You put that pig-poker in her, she’ll bleed out.” He nodded at Anna’s stained and swollen crotch. “Bleedin’ already. Better stop.”

Ivan gave the other man a murderous glare, but then shrugged and turned away. “Guess the other bitch’ll have to do.”

It was while the forty-fifth invader was pounding into Brigid that the blood loss finally caught up with her. That didn’t seem to matter to a few of the monsters, though. One had even waited his turn until he was sure she was dead.

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 11, 1843 – 9:40pm ** Arendelle Castle _

Brian explained how his cousin had loosed him from the post, dragged him over and cut his bonds and tried to force him to beat Kristoff. When he refused, the mercenaries beat him again, then hung him strappado-style from the end of a roof beam where he couldn’t avoid seeing everything. (That was how his shoulder got dislocated.)

He detailed how they would use a silk flog or smelling salts to bring Anna around every time she swooned. That happened a lot.

He described the red welts that crossed her torso, and the blood that ran down her legs.

Then he told, between halting sobs, how they positioned her so she could see Kristoff … and then they went to work on him in earnest. “I couldn’t watch. I’d already … vomited myself dry … by then. Two of the mercenaries came over … and tried to **make** me watch … but I pretended to faint. They left. But I could hear it. I could hear everything, every laugh, every insult, every time his flesh tore or sizzled, every breaking bone … every time … every … every time …”

They used branding irons. They used hooks. They used wood rasps and knives and salt. They cut off his ears, twisted his nose until it broke loose; cut off his fingers one by one, scalped him, cut out his tongue.

He paused, just looking sadly at the Queen’s ashen, tear-streaked face. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but then seemed to come to a decision, gave his head a tiny shake and continued.

It took Kristoff the better part of two hours to die. He was a strong man. After he was dead, one of them cut off the Prince’s penis and tied it around Anna’s neck like a pendant. “A souvenir,” he had said, and laughed.

Princess Anna was a gibbering wreck.

“Alfred … just stared at me … cut me loose … and let me fall … to the ground. He said, _‘You’re in this … just as deep … as the rest of us. Don’t think you aren’t.’_ Then the … mer-mercenaries … and some of the … soldiers … looted the village. They threw … the Princess … into the brig … on their ship. Alfred … dragged me … up the plank … left me there on the deck … to wait … for the tide.”

Elsa’s uncontrollable, wracking sobs made him stop for a bit. His vision was getting cloudy and dark.

After a few minutes, he said, “First chance I had … sneaked off … the ship … took a horse … rode south … hard as I could. Some of them … chased … chased me … that’s when … got shot …” A wave of nausea passed over him, and he shuddered and lost consciousness.

The doctor intruded, felt Brian’s neck, and grimaced. “He’s burning up. One of his wounds must be infected.”

Elsa gave Doctor Odum a dull look, then took three towels and imbued them with magical cold. “Here. Maybe these will help.” She rose and stepped heavily to the door. “Call me when he awakes. If he awakes.”

. . .

. . .

_ ** September 25, 1843 – 7:45am ** Arendelle Castle _

Anna was resting fitfully, snuggled up under Elsa’s chin, when the Queen awoke that morning. Gently she held her, kissed the lines from that furrowed brow, and began humming a soft lullaby she’d learned from their mother.

After a few minutes Anna’s eyes fluttered open. She looked around blearily, focused on her sister, and whimpered. “Elsa.”

“I’m here, Anna,” she answered quietly. “I’ve got you.”

The Princess clutched at Elsa’s arm and screwed her eyes shut. “Elsa … Kristoff’s dead.”

“And I am _so sorry!_ ”

“He’s dead, Elsa. I watched him die. They killed him.”

“I know.”

“They killed him. Right there. They killed him.”

They went on in this dialogue for several minutes. The enormity of what Anna had been through seemed fresh every time she awoke, as if the memories regrouped and attacked anew with each day. The old refrain started up in Elsa’s head, the sad drum-beat that had been tormenting her for months: _If only I had gone with her! If only I had been there! I could have stopped them!_ But her throat was too tight to say it.

“I couldn’t do anything. They tied me down. I couldn’t stop them.” She turned the bleakest of gazes on her sister. “Elsa … why did they do that? Why did they kill the man I love?”

This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, not by a mile, but it _was_ the first time Anna had been so lucid. Elsa thought it strange that, although she would sometimes mutter things about the rapes in her sleep, while awake she only ever spoke of Kristoff.

“He’s dead. Kristoff is dead. My husband … he’s dead. They killed him.” Her eyes, as usual, began to shimmer. “Elsa … why would they do that? They killed him. He’s dead.”

Elsa was crying too hard herself to make any sort of reply.

“They can’t … I can’t let them get away with it. Elsa!” She squeezed her sister’s arm until her fingers left bruises. “Elsa, we have to **_do_** something!”

Trembling lips kissed the red hair, and repeated the answer she’d already given several times in the last week. “I already have, Dear One. Those men will never hurt anyone else.”

. . .

. . .


	5. Chapter 5

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 5 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 14, 1843 – 2:40pm ** Arendelle Castle _

The formal declaration of hostilities arrived in the form of an ambassadorial delegation from Weselton.

Elsa had spent the previous two days in conference with her Council and the Admiral of Arendelle’s small navy … and in trying not to go completely insane from worry and grief. Some of the soldiers sent to Aard had arrived back just that morning, bearing the bodies of the Guards and the servants, and what they could gather of Kristoff, piled into the royal carriage. They corroborated everything Brian Morris had told them. A squad of six had stayed behind to bury the dead of Aard. The Bishop had gone up as well, to conduct a service for the mass funeral and see if he could determine the names of all the victims.

Brian Morris was locked in the throes of a violent fever; the physician had his hands full just keeping the young man alive, much less conscious. He’d identified which wound had gone septic, and kept it packed with poultices, which he changed every six hours. Elsa kept the infirmary supplied with cooling towels, and even spent an hour there herself, lowering his body temperature carefully, slowly, until his thrashing stopped and his breathing settled out. He actually got a few hours of real sleep that night.

Everyone Elsa had spoken with for advice in this horrible situation had recommended caution. They didn’t KNOW where Anna was being kept, and attacking in the wrong place could put her life in more danger than it was already. Maybe she was in Weselton, but maybe not, given that mercenaries were involved. It was also certain that the Duke would know by now that Arendelle was aware of what he had done.

Baron Thad Terrance, Weselton’s supercilious negotiator, arrived mid-afternoon, a sneer seeming to be a permanent fixture on his face. Elsa had him and his six-man retinue summoned to one of the smaller reception chambers. She sat, stone-faced and alone, while he unrolled a parchment and began to read. There were many whereases and therefores and other flowery legal horse shite, but the upshot was that Weselton had economic grievances against Arendelle and had decided to press their case to demand reparations.

Elsa stared at him coldly for a time that seemed to stretch out much longer than he’d anticipated. His sneer faded and he rolled and then re-rolled the parchment, finally saying, “Queen Elsa, did you not –”

She flicked both hands and suddenly the delegation was surrounded with individual cages of blue ice, each bar heavily encrusted with wicked-looking thorns. She murmured, her voice low and controlled, “You have said what you came to say. Now you will listen.”

One of the retinue, a large, hulking man that Elsa had taken to be the Baron’s bodyguard, jerked a pistol from a hidden holster and made to level it at her.

She clenched one hand. His ice cage instantly twisted up like a barber pole, making some unsettling sounds as flesh was torn and bones broken. Long gouts of his blood spurted in several directions. 

Baron Terrance screamed then, recoiling in fear until he bumped into the thorns, whereupon he jerked back the other way, hissing at the pain of small stab wounds. “You can’t do this! I’m an ambassador! This is a diplomatic –”

Ice covered his lower face, abruptly halting his tirade. Regarding him evenly, Elsa stated, “I believe that I said you were finished talking.”

He scrabbled ineffectively at his icy muzzle. Elsa simply stared at him for half a minute before snapping her fingers to disintegrate the ice. He gaped at her with undisguised terror.

“Your master, Alan Baartens, Duke of Weselton, attacked Arendelle without provocation.”

The Baron’s eyes grew very round.

“His forces came by stealth, murdering a village of innocents in their beds, some sixty-two souls, men and women and children. They lay in wait for the Princess of Arendelle, and by deception slew eight guards, two messengers, and three retainers, taking the one handmaiden left alive as a slave for their perversions, until she, too, died. Then they …”

“You could not _possibly_ know that! What proof do you have of-”

The frigid gag was back. Her eyes bored holes into his very marrow.

“… Then they _gang raped_ my sister, tortured her husband to death in front of her, and left with her as hostage.” Elsa had been pacing slowly among the cages. One of the others made to slide a knife between her ribs. The cage closed on his wrist, severing it neatly, and the hand fell to the floor, still clutching the blade. He began to scream, whereupon his cage filled with ice, silencing him. Looking around at the others, she said, “You can’t harm me; you can’t even give it a decent try. You should refrain from attempting to do so, because at this moment? … I have no compunction whatsoever about ending your miserable … pathetic … useless … lives.” Turning back to the Baron and noting that he was beginning to turn blue, she banished his gag. He took several deep, ragged breaths.

“So,” continued Elsa, “the fact of the matter is that Arendelle and Weselton are now at war, whether that was what the Duke planned or not. Apparently, he thinks that he can hold my sister as leverage. This assumption I will soon demonstrate to be false. The only question that now remains is how many inhabitants of your wretched Duchy will have to die in the process.”

“But-but-but,” he sputtered, “you can’t just –”

The gag was back and Elsa stepped right up to his cage. “Telling me what I **_can_** or **_cannot_** do is not a tactic that is likely to lengthen your life. Baartens has struck me where he calculated it would hurt the most, and he was correct – as far as that goes. However, if he thought that would somehow make me malleable, he is about to learn just how terribly, fatally wrong he is. I am _UTTERLY_ out of patience. Now … tell me where Anna is being kept.” With a gesture she freed his mouth.

“I … I can’t … that is, I don’t …” he swallowed hard, caught his breath, “… they don’t, ah … don’t tell me those sorts of things.”

“Wrong answer.”

One of the spikes in his cage suddenly impaled his right calf. He shrieked in agony, grabbing for the bars but then letting go, drawing his bloody hand back. “You … _monster!_ The Duke … was right! Monster!”

“Weselton would know all about monsters, having set four score of them loose on my kingdom.” She leaned forward. “Now. TELL me what you KNOW about Anna’s whereabouts. Know and understand that all I care about at this point is my sister. If I have to wring each of you like a rag until your bones are _splinters_ to find out what I need to know, I will. Your life, the lives of your cronies, mean nothing to me. Less than nothing. You will continue to exist as long as you continue to be useful. And if you think for even the blink of an eye that you have seen the limits of the pain I can bring …”

One of the others squeaked, “I know where she might be!”

The Queen’s dark gaze turned his way. “Speak.”

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 14, 1843 – 5:10pm ** Arendelle Castle _

Elsa was nearly done with her preparations. She didn’t know how long she would be gone or what level of resistance she might encounter, so she and Captain Gunnarsson of the Queen’s Own Guard had tried to plan for everything they could imagine might happen. He had insisted on accompanying her (she wouldn’t have left a man of his skills behind in any case) and the picked team she’d assembled. Princess Anna was held in enormously high esteem by the people, and by the military in particular. Her exploits in the coup attempt that took place four months after Elsa’s coronation were the stuff of nightly tales around the barracks.

As the final few items were hurriedly stashed into the trunk, she got a tickle at the base of her neck.

Someone was holding Anna’s communication orb.

Instantly she solidified the connection and found herself looking into a pair of beady brown eyes.

_ [What is this thing?] _ the man asked.

_ [What?] _

The point of view shifted around and the Duke of Weselton came into view. _[This … this … is this a ball of ice?]_ Elsa could see books lining two of the walls, and some wing-back chairs to one side. A library, maybe?

_ [Aaihh! Colonel! Where did you find that?] _

_ [In this little chest. Your sell-swords brought it back.] _

The Duke walked closer and stared. Elsa grit her teeth, sweat popping out on her forehead as she fought down the urge to scream at him.

_ [Is it cold?] _

_ [Yeah. But it’s not melting. You think the Ice Witch made it?] _

_ [Doubtless. But why would the Princess have it with her?] _

_ [How would I know? Female sentimentality?] _

The Duke backed away. _[Sorcery. That’s what it is. Sorcery. I want nothing to do with it. You keep it.]_

The Colonel smirked. _[Maybe the Red Band shared your revulsion.]_ He set it down on the table.

The Duke spoke. _[Speaking of the Princess, is she ready yet?]_

The Colonel gave him a shrug, walking away from the orb and toward the fireplace. _[She’s being cleaned out and washed. They had to dose her with laudanum. She fought like a wounded boar.]_

**_ Oh,  _ ** thought Elsa, **_you haven’t SEEN fighting yet!_**

_ [Washed. Good.] _ The Duke nodded. _[I don’t want anyone’s sloppy seconds.]_

_ [I wouldn’t worry. She’ll be as docile as a lamb as long as that stuff is in her system. She may not even remember you fucking her.] _

_ [I’ll have to wait a bit, then. I’d hate for her to miss out on the experience. If she’s going to be the mother of my heir, she needs to get used to the idea at the start.] _

_ [Your heir?!] _

The Duke smirked. _[You didn’t know? How thick are you?]_

_ [Now see here …] _

_ [Why do you think I had her husband killed? ‘Till death do us part’? Remember that? I can’t very well marry her if she’s still married to someone else, and I want everything nice and legal.] _

_ [… I’m not seeing your angle.] _

_ [If Weselton and Arendelle are connected by marriage …] _

_ [OH! Huh. That’s pretty canny.] _

Elsa broke the connection. A stray impulse came to her to make the orb explode, but she wrestled it back down. Anna was alive, she was going to go rescue her, and she wouldn’t do anything that might warn that devil of a Duke or put Anna’s life in jeopardy. Slamming the rest of her items into the trunk, she fastened the lid, encased the whole thing in ice, and levitated it behind her as she ran from the room.

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 14, 1843 – 10:18pm ** Off the coast of Weselton _

Normally the voyage from Arendelle southwest to Weselton took nearly three days, given favorable winds. Elsa’s long, sleek black-ice catamaran made the trip in just under five hours. A gently-curved shell of clear ice protected its riders from the elements … and kept them from blowing off into the sea.

The strike squad was composed of twelve of her best Marines, outfitted as no other force ever seen on Earth. Their light, articulated armor was made of water, solidified to a hardness and toughness unobtainable by metallic alloys. It would turn any blade, shrug off any bullet, and impede their movements not at all. They had opted to outfit only four men with their regular carbines (five-chamber Collier flintlock revolvers), while the rest carried crossbows in case a more silent approach was needed. Elsa had made them all swords similar to their armor. Those swords were currently the sharpest objects in existence, and could be neither blunted nor broken by any force man might command (she had channeled a lot of her rage into their manufacture). They also had pistols of her own invention. Each one would fire a projectile that would freeze solid a volume contained in a radius of about five paces around the point of impact. Also, each man carried around his neck a communication orb. Elsa would be able to see what they saw, wherever they went.

Their job was to find Anna and get her out. Hers was to provide a distraction. None of them planned on being gentle … and she felt QUITE sure she’d have no trouble with that.

. . .

. . .


	6. Chapter 6

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 6 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 14, 1843 – 10:44pm ** Castle Firrens, Weselton Ducal Seat _

In comfortable pajamas and a smoking jacket, Alan Baartens, Duke of Weselton, sipped a very old single-malt scotch from a glass of cut crystal as he lounged on the balcony off his chambers. Rare, dark woods predominated, with lighter brocades and silks here and there for contrast, the overall effect one of opulence. Though the Duke was a very sharp trader in his business dealings, penurious to a fault with his staff (and quick to jump on the occasional cheat if the chance came along) he prized his creature comforts.

Glancing back into the room, he studied the lithe female form on his bed, lightly shadowed in the warm glow of the gaslight sconces on his wall. Anna had come packaged in a short bustier, silk stockings, and nothing else. Still under the influence of the laudanum, she slept heavily, small snores escaping in a regular cadence. He wasn’t worried about having to battle her when she finally did awaken … he had bound her hands and feet securely to the posts of his heavy bed, his sailing background aiding him with the knots. She wouldn’t be getting loose. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes when she came to, the realization that **_he_** was in control, that **_he_** was calling the shots, and that her damned, demonic witch of a sister was powerless against him. He toyed now with the idea of using smelling salts on her; he couldn’t wait all night to …

A deep, thunderous, cracking sound came to his ears in an irregular staccato. He didn’t recognize it immediately, though it gave his stomach a flip, but running to the balustrade, he scanned the harbor.

One of his ships – even as he watched, mouth agape – was crumbling in on itself.

He was out the door in a flash, calling to his guards, his officers, anyone he could find, “We’re under attack!” Grabbing a servant by the lapels, he muttered, “Simon, take that red-headed bitch to the dungeons, give her to the Red Band, and don’t let _anyone_ else _near_ her!”

The man nodded in nascent fear. “What’s happening, Your Grace?”

“The Ice Witch.” And he sped off.

Popping a sudden sweat, the servant ran to the Duke’s rooms, spotting Anna instantly. He slashed the ropes from her limbs, but then he heard a lengthy, snapping crack and ran over to look out at the harbor. One ship lay in four pieces at the dock, the shallow water preventing it from sinking completely out of sight. Another one, four berths down, was in the grasp of what might have been a gargantuan vice. The night was clear, but still there wasn’t enough light to really make out …

The ship gave a lurch up out of the water and split along the keel. Faint screams came to his ears. He looked back at Anna. Of course the castle staff had been gossiping about her all day. Word was that she was the Princess of Arendelle, but he had originally dismissed that out of hand. No one would be foolhardy enough to kidnap the sister of the infamous Snow Queen …

… would they?

Surely not …

As he dithered, another ship began its crackling death throes. Now, too, he could hear the occasional report of a rifle. But what good would base metal be against a creature who was surely an Elemental avatar? He had it on reliable authority that Queen Elsa was impervious, that she couldn’t be harmed, much less slain, by mortal weapons.

Surely … **_SURELY_** , the Duke would not have been so … so feckless!

As he stared, a gigantic spar of what was very obviously ice stabbed up out of the middle of a fourth ship, lifting it a good ten fathoms before its structural integrity was compromised to the point that it simply broke in two. More ragged screams came. Simon could see men fall into the black water before a hundred tons of what would shortly be flotsam came down on top of them. Then the mighty shaft of ice grew taller, thicker, taller still … and ponderously fell over, crushing three more ships to matchwood.

Sweating hard now, he turned back to Anna. _Madness. That’s what this is. Pure, unadulterated madness! He’s brought doom down on us all!_ Quickly weighing his options, Simon came to a decision and nodded. This very likely **_was_** Princess Anna of Arendelle, and the Snow Queen _would_ find her. It would behoove him to be found in a favorable light when she did.

He quickly got Anna’s bonds removed and then used smelling salts to bring her to a very woozy state of semi-consciousness. Then he helped her (mostly carried her) over to the balcony and sat her in a lounge chair. Running quickly back to the fire, he grasped a burning knot with the tongs and took it out to the balcony, where he began waving it back and forth. Perhaps the Snow Queen would see him, and would understand that he was only trying to help. Perhaps she would spare his …

“What the fat-fried _fuck_ are you _doing?!_ ”

Simon nearly dropped the makeshift torch. Two of the Red Band stood at the chamber door. He swallowed and faced them. “The Snow Queen is attacking!”

“Yes. We know. We’re dealing with it.” Pointing at Anna, he said, “The Duke said you were supposed to be taking that one to the dungeon, not advertising where she is!” He drew his sword.

“But you don’t understand! She’ll kill us all! The only hope we have is to throw ourselves on her mer-”

The sword in his gut ended his sentence as it ended his life.

Spitting on the dying man, the mercenary said, “Worthless fleck o’ shit.” He nodded to his companion. “Grab ‘er. Let’s get the hell out.”

. . .

. . .

Captain Eric Gunnarsson had nearly two decades of service under his belt before attaining his rank in the Queen’s Own Guard, and even before he joined Her Majesty’s Marines, he’d been a skilled tactician. Elsa had been as good as her word:  once the excitement started, the locals were either running helter-skelter toward the docks, apparently to try to protect the ships (though **_he_** certainly couldn’t see how that might be managed), or running away as if their asses were on fire. The dozen camouflaged men, if they _had_ been spotted, were roundly ignored. Speedily they moved into the castle.

The third man they got the drop on knew something about Anna. They ‘encouraged’ him to help, and he led them to another servant who was a real wealth of information. With the promise of keeping him alive and safe from Elsa’s wrath, they got him to guide them where they needed to go.

The two mercenaries with Anna had just arrived at the entrance to the dungeon when Captain Gunnarsson spied them from a branching corridor. He watched as they ducked inside, as one of them stationed himself there, locked the door, and stood with a spear in his hands. Eric motioned his men around, waited the few seconds until they were in position, and then sauntered, carefree, up to the man guarding the door.

“Evening, friend.”

The guard passed quickly from shock, through curiosity, to distrust. Looking him up and down, he barked, “Who the hell are you?”

“Crimson Eagles. Duke hired us for support. Got here this afternoon. Looks like just in time for the excitement.”

The guard hefted his spear, pointed it at Eric. “What’s the password?”

“Finkelstein.” This was spoken with ultimate confidence.

“… the hell?”

That was when the Marine who had sneaked up behind him slipped a knife into his neck and sliced his larynx in half. He dropped without a sound.

One of the men extinguished the torch opposite the door. Eric bent, leaned an ear against the dense wood, slowly turned the key and lifted the latch, pushed on it just enough to get a crack to hear through. After half a minute, he nodded and held up four fingers. His men unlimbered their crossbows and formed up behind him in three ranks. Then he pushed the door open.

The fight, if one wishes to call it that, was quite short. None of the mercenaries had time to do more than gasp or splutter before being relieved of the burden of keeping body and soul together. They dragged the dead guard inside and piled all the bodies in a corner, out of sight, in case anyone else came along and peeked in. Eric noted the absence of the Princess, and the barred door on the other side of the room. He slipped the stout piece of wood out of its socket, pulled the door until just a crack appeared, and listened intently to the faint conversation coming up the hall.

“Sounds like seven,” he whispered. “I don’t hear the Princess.”

“She’s either drugged or gagged, then,” offered his Sergeant, just as quietly.

“Right.” He thought it over a second and said, “Douse that lantern.” When the room was dark, he eased the door open a bit farther. Maybe fifteen paces away, four men sat around a small table, playing at cards while three more kibitzed. They muttered and swore, paying no attention to anything else. _Very effective guards_ , Eric thought wryly, _and farther away than I like for crossbows._ He studied the layout of the corridor, determined that the actual cells started farther down the passage, and pulled his ice pistol.

The projectile made no sound, apart from a slight _paff_ noise when it activated. But the men and everything around them were suddenly encased in thick ice. Nodding grimly, Eric counted down from five and then led the Marines into the room. 

Anna was in the second cell, and (as predicted) quite insensate. Noting her semi-naked state, one of the Marines took the nearly-impenetrable cloak Elsa had given them and wrapped it around her.

_ (Out in the harbor, Elsa sagged with relief as she saw her sister through the orbs the Marines wore. Then she turned her attention back to mayhem, and kicked it up a notch.) _

“Aglin, Ole, you two carry her. From here on, speed is the watchword.”

They ran, not bothering with stealth. Four times, they encountered resistance; four times, they left none alive in their wake. Then they were outside and running for the dock … 

… what was left of it. Elsa had given in to her anger. All the landings and wharfs and berths were one great forest of icy stalagmites, littered with the impaled bodies of dead soldiers and sailors and watchmen. Ice encrusted everything. Not a single ship remained unbroken. One of the Marines happened to glance behind them, and stopped, becalmed. “Hey, Captain?”

Eric and a few others turned. Their eyes grew round.

A colossal wall of dark ice reached to the sky between the ducal compound and the rest of the city.

The Captain shrugged. “Sucks to be Weselton. Let’s go.” As soon as they neared the water, Elsa came into view, riding a huge … creature-thing … of ice. It scooped them all up, strode out into the harbor, and with a bright shower of sparks, morphed into the catamaran. Water sprayed up around them as they sped away from land … but then they stopped. Eric judged that they were out of range of anything except cannon, and had confidence that Elsa could protect them if such ordnance came their way (it didn’t).

She was cradling her sister, her cheeks wet. “Oh, Anna. My poor, sweet Anna.” The men kept a respectful silence as Elsa examined the redhead’s injuries.

At length, she stood, staring back at the castle, her gaze lowering and feral. Then she raised her arms, her slim form outlined in a crackling, blue glow …

Dark **_things_** began crawling up out of the waters of the harbor; great things with heads full of long, icy tentacles; smaller, slippery things with no legs, but sharp, sharp teeth; hard-edged things with many legs and gaping maws and razor-like talons and barbed, prehensile tails. Things that flowed or crept or bounded into the ducal compound.

The catamaran was too far away for any of them to hear the screams. The one servant they’d brought along sat at the back and wept as silently as he could.

As they began once more to pick up speed, the men noticed that the waters behind them were freezing. Jagged bergs appeared, spiky things that gave off a dull red phosphorescence in the distance.

Then the snow began to fall.

. . .

. . .


	7. Chapter 7

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 7 **

. . .

. . .

Two days passed.

Anna didn’t wake up.

At first the physician assumed that her captors had given her drugs, and that they would wear off. After learning something of her experiences, though, he suspected that her unconscious mind was keeping her asleep, just so she wouldn’t have to deal with the reality, the enormity of what had happened to her.

Elsa delegated the administration of the kingdom to her Council for a set period of one month so there would be no distractions. She fretted over Anna twenty hours a day, and barely slept the rest of the time. The Princess was already clean when rescued, having apparently been bathed and perfumed for the Duke’s pleasure, so that was one item her sister didn’t have to worry about. But the younger woman only lay there, inert. She didn’t even seem to be dreaming.

The morning of the third day back, one of the servants knocked timidly on Anna’s door. He had to repeat the action twice more before a drawn, muffled voice said, “Come.”

Peeking around the door, he whispered, “Your Majesty?”

Bleary blue eyes met his. “What?”

“Doctor Odum wants- ah, that is, needs to talk, um, rather he would like- uh, he’d appreciate- um, really … to see you.”

She followed that sentence down its rabbit hole. “… . . . … Now?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

Elsa turned her gaze to Anna. A slow, even rise and fall of her chest was the only indicator that she wasn’t a corpse. Her hands were still crossed on her stomach as they had been the night before. Drawing a long breath which she quietly exhaled through her nose, the Queen rose and walked to the door.

Two guards stood at post in the hall. She motioned to one. “Averic, please sit with Anna. If she moves or makes a sound, send Ole to tell me.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“I’ll be in the infirmary.”

“Very good, Majesty.”

A few minutes later, Elsa sat down at Doctor Odum’s desk, resting her temple on a fist. “What was it you needed, Doctor?”

“I need to know how badly you want Master Morris to live.”

A couple of blinks, and then she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them. “I take it, then, that he is not responding to treatment?”

“Your magic has prevented the fever from killing him, but the infection in his shoulder is beginning to look gangrenous. If not excised, it will kill him.”

“… And there is a problem with excising it?”

“Only that I am not sure his body will stand it.”

“Is that the only chance he has?”

“To the best of my knowledge, yes. But if I do operate, I will need your assistance.”

“Mine!?” She raised her gaze to his in shock. “I know nothing of medicine!”

“But you know cold.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on laced fingers. “You have been periodically lowering his internal temperature.”

“Well … yes. But …”

“If you could get it just a bit lower, and hold it there while I operate, I feel that he will stand the trauma better.”

“Oh.”

“Also, do you think you could lower the temperature just around the wound even more? Without it affecting the rest of him?”

“… I … possibly? I’ve not tried anything like that before.”

“If you’re willing, I would like to prepare for surgery now.”

“… Right now?”

“Within the hour. His condition is … grave.”

“Very well. I’d like to break my fast first. I’ll need the energy. My sleep has not been … untroubled.”

“Yes, please. As soon as you return, then.”

Not quite thirty minutes later, Elsa found herself in the room Doctor Odum used for the “sawbones” end of his business.

“If,” began the physician, “the quarrel had lodged in his arm rather than his shoulder, I would already have removed it and he would be on the mend.”

“Minus an arm.”

“A not-uncommon state of affairs in the military.” When she looked like she was about to object, he added, “That applies to other countries. The royals of Arendelle have been circumspect enough to keep us out of wars, and for that we should all be heartily thankful. Otherwise, you WOULD have seen any number of maimed men around the kingdom.”

Sitting herself down beside Brian’s bed, she asked, “Should I start?”

“Yes. How long will it take?” He had learned earlier that she had a very good idea of how much Brian’s internal temperatures would fall, her magical feedback being quite precise.

“A few minutes only. Then I will see to his wound.”

“I will warn you, it isn’t pretty.”

She grimaced. “Purulence rarely is.”

Brian was positioned on his side, and lay very still, having been given a light dose of laudanum. Doctor Odum pulled the sheet down, exposing the place where the dart had struck and releasing a waft of putrid stench. Elsa fought her gorge down and concentrated.

Less than nine minutes later, the assistants were packing and bandaging the hole left behind, the doctor was washing his hands, and Elsa was leaning her forehead against the wall, trying not to throw up. “I now regret … that second rasher … of bacon.”

“I’d recommend giving up bacon entirely. Such greasy foods treat one’s constitution ill. You might even develop gout if you eat it regularly.”

“I will … take that … into consideration.” Drawing several deep breaths, she finally turned to him. “How do you do it?”

“One becomes inured to blood.” He sent her a small, bleak grin. “And to such sights as we just dealt with.”

“So he will live now?”

“Probably, although he’ll have a truly impressive scar; and he won’t be drawing a bow any time soon. But the infection was localized, and all his other wounds healed satisfactorily. I didn’t detect any blood poisoning. I’ve prepared a poultice to place on the site, once the blood clots.”

“Oh. That’s … good.” Try as she might, she couldn’t quite suppress her memories of the operation. “I believe I’ll go lie down.”

“I’d recommend it. I’ll send word when he awakes.”

. . .

. . .

Three more days passed. At the urging of her Council, Elsa began taking a sleeping draught each night. It was the only way she could actually rest.

Anna slept on.

Two of the palace staff had sad, personal experience in dealing with someone in a coma, and they were of significant help during weeks that followed. They advised on how to prepare a nourishing broth that could be given to the Princess in small sips, so that she would neither starve nor choke. They set up a schedule of turning her to one side or another so that she wouldn’t get bed sores. They devised a sort of diaper to put on her to keep the bed from getting soiled, and set up a washing station to clean her off regularly.

Elsa had no other focus in her life. She sat with Anna, slept next to her, read her book after book after book, even brought in a puppy at one point. The tiny creature licked and licked at the Princess’s cheek, but to no avail.

Anna never responded to any of it. ****

. . .

. . .


	8. Chapter 8

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 8 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 24, 1843 – 11:10am ** Castle Garand, Royal Seat of Corona _

“Thomas, please, we _must_ do **_something!_** ”

“Prim …” The King of Corona already had his head cradled in his trembling hands. “… Darling … what _can_ we do?” He wiped surreptitiously at his tears. “That poor, poor girl. I can’t even imagine …”

“Eugene says Rapunzel refuses to leave her room. She won’t stop crying.” Her pacing was beginning to show a pattern in the rug. “Oh, if only she had not been the first one to open the letter and hear the news!”

“It’s just too horrible. To lose her husband that way …”

“I have a feeling that Baron Magnussen wasn’t telling us everything he knew. He’s normally so … so verbose.” She snatched up a much-crumpled sheet of parchment. “This is just _terse_. I know ambassadors are supposed to choose their words carefully, but really!” Smoothing out the missive, she scanned it again. “And if Elsa is so distraught that she can’t even write her own letters …”

Thomas rose and took the few steps to his wife, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “Perhaps …” He seemed to be talking mostly to himself. “… perhaps if we kept it very quiet … perhaps the Flower could help.”

She sniffed, looked up at him. “What?”

He startled just a bit, swallowed, turned his face to hers. “The Flower that saved your life … that saved Rapunzel in your womb.”

“Yes, yes, I know what Flower you mean. But there was only the one. They only ever found one.”

“That is true. It is … exceedingly rare, possibly the only one of its kind. That is why …” He looked away. “I ask you to forgive me my silence.”

“Thomas? I don’t understand.”

Holding her gaze with his intense, gray eyes, he chewed his lip for a moment, then said, “Come with me.”

He led her through the palace to the rear of the huge complex, climbing three sets of stairs on the way. Though curiosity was eating at her, Queen Primrose was wise enough to hold her many questions. They came to the rear wall and mounted another set of stairs, curved this time, as they were ascending a small tower. She recognized it, of course. “This is your observatory.”

“Yes. It is.”

A minute later they came out into a vestibule, and he produced a key to the iron-barred oaken door. She looked up at him. “No one but you ever comes here.”

“True.” The door opened, and he led her in.

The space was maybe eight paces across and circular. Most of the perimeter was taken up with small planters, all of which held a wide variety of flowering plants. She recognized roses and lilies and zinnias and marigolds, phlox and violets and foxglove and campanula, and noted several other varieties that were new to her. She moved to the nearest box and sniffed a rose, then turned to him and asked, “Are you suggesting that one of these flowers could have the same effect?”

“No.” He strode across the space to a locked cabinet set into the wall, took out another key, and opened it. The top and back of the deep box were glass, to let in light. Growing inside it were several beautiful blooms, each giving off a faint, golden glow.

Primrose couldn’t speak. She took a step, took another, looked to her husband, then stared back at the Flowers. “How? How did you … how could you …”

“There was a seed pod at the base of the Flower. It held two seeds. I feared … had feared …” Lifting her chin with gentle fingers, he drew a deep breath and soldiered on. “I feared to lose you. What if your sickness returned? What if our child needed it?” He pressed her to his side. “I could not bear the thought of losing you. So I … took precautions.”

“But … but Thomas! All this time? Why did you never …”

“To keep you safe. To keep Corona safe.”

“… What do you mean?”

“The news of your miraculous cure was carried far. You may not remember, but after Rapunzel’s birth we had many hundreds, perhaps thousands, of foreign visitors who sneaked into the kingdom to look for the Flower. Of course the official word was that there had been but one and it was consumed in making the potion that saved you.”

“I … yes. I recall some of that. I was mostly occupied with caring for Rapunzel, but still, yes, I remember. They caused no end of trouble.”

“That they did. Kept the Rangers very busy. But after a several months, when no one found anything, and some of the more scurrilous ruffians were hanged, interest died down.” He took her arms in his hands, gave her a steady stare. “Can you imagine what would become of Corona if anyone knew about these Flowers?”

Her mouth grew round. “Oh. If other lands knew we had a magic Flower that could cure any disease …”

“We would find ourselves at war.”

“Oh … oh, Thomas!” Frightened eyes turned toward the small greenhouse. “And you never breathed a word.”

“No.”

“But this might help Anna.”

“I feel certain it would.”

“But how would we go about it?”

“I have an idea.”

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 27, 1843 – 9:15am ** Arendelle Castle _

“Doctor Odum?”

The physician glanced up from his desk. “Yes?”

“Mr. Morris is awake.”

He was out of his chair and past the servant in a trice.

The boy’s face was drawn and sallow, but his eyes held intelligence, the first such sign he’d shown since a couple of days prior to his operation. He’d been getting pretty much the same treatment as Anna, except they could get him half-awake to eat most times. He rasped, “What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“… Which one?”

“The twenty-seventh.”

He blinked several times and then squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. “So … I’ve been out … for two weeks?”

“And a bit. How do you feel?”

“Like a giant stepped on me … and then wiped me off his shoe.”

Doctor Odum grinned. “You have your wits back, at least.”

The boy took three deep breaths. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Did … did the Princess …”

The physician’s hand found its way to Brian’s. “She’s here. Queen Elsa rescued her.”

That produced a long sigh. “Thank God.”

A hesitant pause on the doctor’s part went unnoticed. “Yes. We are all glad she’s back. But let’s get some food in you. You still have quite a bit of healing to do.”

“Oh … I can have … some breakfast?”

“Of course. What would you like?”

“As long as … it’s not hard tack or jerky … I really don’t care.”

“Good man. We’ll get you fixed up.” The doctor rose to leave.

“Right. Thanks.” Brian let his eyes close.

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 31, 1843 – 2:15pm ** Arendelle Castle _

Elsa leaned against her bed post and rubbed her aching eyes. The previous night had been difficult. “Who did you say it was?”

“Queen Primrose,” intoned Kai, “of Corona.”

“Corona …” Her eyes flew open. “Oh! Aunt Prim!”

“Indeed. She has come bearing well-wishes.”

“Well wishes?”

“For the Princess.”

She tried to shake the cobwebs out of her brain, and frowned in thought. “It hasn’t even been three weeks since we returned with Anna! How did Corona find out so quickly?”

“I could not say, Majesty.”

“Most peculiar.” Mulling it over briefly, Elsa asked, “Where is she?”

“The Green Room. I’ve posted a guard and ordered tea for her.”

“And her retinue?”

“Still aboard their ship, apart from one handmaid, as I understand it. She went to the kitchen.”

“Hmh. I see.” She drew a couple of long breaths, then looked at herself in a nearby mirror. That brought on a frown. “Please let her know I’ll meet with her in … let’s say twenty minutes.”

“Let’s say forty-five. You missed lunch. Again.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Father.”

His answer was an exaggerated sniff, and then he marched off.

. . .

. . .

_ ** 3:00pm ** _

The guard opened the door for Elsa, who glided in with her classic grace … but as soon as she laid eyes on her father’s sister, her face crumpled.

Primrose strode over and took the young woman into her arms, holding her as the tears came. “There, there, dear, just let it out. I’m here now.”

It was many a long minute before Elsa regained much of her composure. “I’m so … so glad …” – _sniffle –_ “so glad you came. I just don’t know what to do. Anna won’t … she won’t …”

“Yes, I know. I spoke with some of the staff before you arrived. It’s just too horrible. I’d hoped that by the time I got here, she would have awakened on her own, but …”

“Oh, Aunt Prim! It’s just such a huge, horrible mess!”

“It is. But we’ll do what we can. I’m just relieved that we found out when we did.”

Elsa pulled back to look at her. “I meant to ask:  How _did_ you find out? It could only have been … not much over two weeks.”

“Why, from Baron Magnussen’s letter.”

“Baron Magnussen?”                                                                                                                                     

“… Yes. It was his signature. We had assumed that he wrote it at your behest.”

“Ah … well … that is possible,” she admitted with some chagrin. “I fear that I have been … distracted. I may have mentioned that I wanted you to know. To be brutally frank, there is very little – apart from taking care of Anna – that I can recall from that first week after … after her return.”

“You poor dear.” Holding Elsa at arm’s length, she gave the Arendelle Queen a sharp gaze. “Really. You’re skin and bone. You know you won’t be much good for Anna if you’re so faint from hunger that-”

“Yes.” Elsa interrupted with a sigh, “Yes. I know. Kai stays after me constantly. But I so rarely have any appetite.”

“I’ll have to see about getting some real nourishment into you.”

Elsa sighed and rested her weary head on her Aunt’s shoulder. “Have you been shown your rooms yet?”

“No, I came straight here from the docks. I wanted to speak with you before doing anything else.”

“Thank you. Yes, thank you for that. And thank you for coming. Your presence here means more than I could have imagined. Almost like … I don’t have to be, you know, the adult.”

“But you **_are_** the Queen.”

“Sadly. At present, though, the Council is running Arendelle … until … until Anna …”

“I don’t suppose it would be possible to visit the Princess, would it?”

That made Elsa blink a few times. “You wish to see her now?”

“I have heard that interacting with those in her condition may help to bring them out of it. Perhaps a new voice …”

“Oh! Of course. How silly of me. Yes, by all means. I’ll have Kai show you to your suite, then you can come with me back to her room. He’ll send down to your ship for your retainers as well.”

. . .

. . .

Over the next several days, Queen Primrose marked out the schedule of Anna’s treatment. Dutifully, she sat by her, speaking of life in Corona, occasionally reading to her from one of her favorite books. Primrose also learned when she was being fed, who fed her, and who prepared her broth.

And she thought to herself, _Perfect._

. . .

. . .


	9. Chapter 9

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 9 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** August 3, 1843 – 12:15am ** Arendelle City Watch Guard Post #3 _

Captain Gunnarsson quickly closed the door behind him, shook the rain off his cap, and glared at the man across the small room. “If you don’t have a **_really_** good reason for pulling me out of my bed, I’m letting my wife deal with you.”

“No fear, sir.” The man held out a sealed letter.

Eric’s frown only deepened. “And whatever this is couldn’t wait till morning?”

“No, sir. I think you’ll want to act on it with all due haste.”

Dark eyes twice darted from the letter to the face of the messenger. Pulling off his sodden gloves, Eric took the missive, broke the wax, and unfolded it. A dozen seconds later his mouth dropped open. “Son of a bitch.”

“Indeed, sir.”

After scanning the rest of the letter, Eric gripped the messenger’s hand. “Thank you. You were correct. We have no time to lose.” And he swept back out into the downpour.

. . .

. . .

Primrose wheedled Elsa for the chance to feed the girl. She cozied up to the chef in charge of Anna’s food, inquiring as to the ingredients and the process of producing the broth. She achieved first-name-basis with every guard in the palace.

Then the ninth night she was there, she took a medium-sized box that she’d brought along, made her clandestine way down to the kitchen and spent a couple of hours brewing up a potion.

. . .

. . .

_ ** August 10, 1843 – 9:20am ** Arendelle Castle _

After another night of restlessness brought on by a long series of nightmares, Elsa sat slumped in her chair at breakfast, listlessly stirring her now-tepid tea. She rubbed the heel of one hand against scratchy eyes, trying to think of something – _anything_ – that they hadn’t yet attempted on Anna’s case.

The nearer door slammed open and one of Doctor Odum’s trainees (Sophie? Was that her name?) began speaking excitedly. Elsa, after the initial startle, said, “Stop! Wait … back up and say that again.”

“The Princess! She’s awake!”

Elsa didn’t quite knock the girl down as she ran past.

. . .

. . .

“And she asked for food! She was all morning-grumpy and everything!” Elsa practically danced around her Aunt.

Queen Primrose’s smile would have lit a dark room. “I’m so very happy for you both.”

“I knew she’d snap out of it eventually! I just _knew_ it!”

“How right you were.”

“The soup wasn’t enough. She wanted eggs and kippers and bacon and-” The blond hugged herself and twirled a few times before grasping her Aunt’s hands. “The food made her sleepy. So she’s sleeping now, but it’s a real sleep, not that awful living-death thing she’s been doing for most of a month.”

“Truly marvelous!” Lifting a hand to Elsa’s cheek, she added, “Now maybe you can get some decent sleep yourself. You’re practically a ghost.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t … couldn’t possibly …” She interrupted herself with a huge yawn, then dissolved into giggles. “Well … maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t.”

“Okay. I’ll, uh, see you this afternoon, then. After a nap.”

“A nap! What a good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

. . .

. . .

“Oh, Aunt Prim, you’ve been so much help! You have no idea!”

_ I think I might have some idea _ , she thought with a tiny smile. “I was honored to have some small part, even if it was just moral support.”

“And now you have to go take care of Rapunzel.”

“I was there for her the whole time during her first pregnancy.” She glanced down at the letter still in her hand. “So, yes, this happy news must pull me back home.” She drew the younger Queen into a fond embrace. “Just as you must now help Anna. She will have much pain to work through when she wakes.”

“Yes.” Quickly sobering, Elsa let her hands slide down Primrose’s arms to clasp her fingers. “Yes. You’re right about that. Just because she’s no longer in a coma …”

“True. You’ll have plenty of work to do, helping her deal with her grief. She hasn’t really had a chance to begin the process yet. The wounds will be raw.”

“I know.” Elsa leaned forward and dropped a tiny kiss on her Aunt’s cheek. “Thank you. Thank you so, so much!”

“Perhaps you and she can visit when … well, later. When she’s up to it.”

“We will. Promise.”

Elsa watched the Coronan ship until it disappeared beyond the fjord.

. . .

. . .

But it was not to be.

When Anna came awake in the middle of the night, it was with a soul-damning screech that nearly threw Elsa to the floor. As soon as she could fight free of her sheets, she flew to Anna’s side … and the unalloyed horror on the girl’s face pulled all of Elsa’s buried dread back to the surface. Anna wasn’t “better”. Not even close.

. . .

. . .

_ ** August 14, 1843 – 9:00am ** Arendelle Castle _

Rolf Eland, head Chef in the Arendelle royal kitchens, bustled up to Elsa’s door … then recalled what he’d heard when he noticed there was no Guard, and hurried down the hall to Anna’s room.

The Guard on duty, a man named (Rolf thought) Fallon, gave him a funny look. “What’s in the basket?”

“Truffles!”

Fallon’s confusion increased. “I don’t think the Queen’s in the mood.”

“They’re for the Princess! Don’t you recall …”

“Oh! Right. Stupid of me.” He opened the door, stuck his head in, and spoke in low tones.

Elsa came to the door. She gave the Chef just as puzzled a look as Fallon had.

He held up the small tote. “I got in a shipment of Belgian dark chocolate. Remembering Anna’s love for the stuff, I turned it into truffles.”

A warm smile graced Elsa’s face. “Thank you! Goodness, why hadn’t I thought of that sooner? Of course! She loves chocolate. Come in, come in.”

They walked softly over to the bed where Anna lay on her side faced away from them, staring listlessly at the wall. Elsa whispered, “She had a bad night, but I’ve been reading to her for the last hour. Fairy tales. Funny ones. I know she’s awake, but she doesn’t really respond.” Taking the basket from him, she knelt on the bed beside her sister. “Anna?”

The girl, after a moment, gave a low sigh.

“Chef Eland made you something.”

Shrug.

“I think you’ll like it.”

Shrug. She turned, and gave Elsa a look that said, _What?_

The Queen slid the cloth off the basket and plucked one of the small, round confections from the pile, holding it out to Anna. “Chocolate!”

Her light-teal eyes flying wide, Anna stared at the little, brown ball for a second, scrambled away in a frenzy of sheets, fell off the bed, crabbed back into a corner of the room, and screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

. . .

. . .


	10. Chapter 10

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 10 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** August 18, 1843 – 8:05pm ** Arendelle Castle _

It had taken the rest of the day and half the night to get Anna calmed down, and the exercise exhausted Elsa. Both she and Anna had slept completely through the following day.

Two of Elsa’s older and wiser Councilors had recommended afterward that she get back into the business of being Arendelle’s Queen. The month of their Regency had passed, and they felt that it would do her good to occupy her mind with other, more familiar tasks. It didn’t seem to anyone that the various efforts made on Anna’s behalf had done the girl much good, and the kingdom needed its monarch. So two days ago she had held Petitioners’ Court for the first time in over six weeks. Most who showed up, however, had only wanted to express their own sorrow over Anna’s shattered mind. Elsa was not comforted.

The previous day had found her answering correspondence. There was a lot of it that her Council had held for her, mostly personal letters. A few of the more recent were messages of support or sympathy, and hopes that Anna would heal. Some older ones had to do with setting up or altering diplomatic relations:  The Two Sicilies, Lithuania and Galacia wanted to treat for mutual support. The United States wished to establish an embassy in Arendelle, expressed with much fawning and unctuous verbiage. She had that one in her short stack to answer. Perhaps their ambassador would be able to satisfy certain questions she had about the operation of a republic. She spent much of the afternoon drafting replies to them all.

Today she planned to finish the remainder. She’d worked her way backward through them, coming at last to a note that had arrived the day after Baron Terrance’s fateful and unpleasant visit. It bore nothing but the salutation “Elsa, Ice Witch” … and the seal of the Duchy of Weselton.

It fell to her desk from numb fingers. She only sat there, staring at it as the minutes crept slowly by. A letter from a dead man.

_ Why would he have written? The Baron was his mouthpiece. There shouldn’t have been any need to add anything. _

Possible scenarios occurred to her.

_ Could it have been written by someone else in his court? That’s the Ducal Seal, though. There can’t be many with access to it. _

_ Perhaps … perhaps he wanted to apologize … to explain himself? But what **possible** explanation could there be for such heinous acts? _

Obviously he had to have written it before Elsa’s assault on Weselton. But that was, what, five weeks ago? The timing was all wrong. It didn’t usually take five weeks for …

_ Elsa, the easiest way to find out would be to read it. _

With a long, breathy sigh, she picked it up and broke the seal.

He began without preamble:

_ Alan Baartens, Duke of Weselton, _

_ To Elsa, self-styled Snow Queen of Arendelle, _

Apparently something **had** held up the delivery of the letter. It could have been anything, and she was unlikely to deduce the cause at this late date. She returned to the missive.

_ I will assume this makes it into your hands after you’ve received my ultimatum.  _

_ Know that you are powerless against me. I have your precious Princess Anna, and I think I’ll be keeping her. If you want her to stay hale and hearty, you’ll keep your distance, and keep your wretched sorcery to yourself. _

_ I’m sure that Baron Terrance made it clear  that the terms of our trade agreement are not negotiable, but I will state it again for the record:  You will pay me back for the insult, the indignity, and the cost of your precipitous actions, and you will be paying for many a year to come. _

_ It has taken some time and effort on my part to arrange all this, but I consider it worth the expense. The accepted adage is that revenge is a dish best served cold. And you would know all about cold, wouldn’t you? _

By the time she’d finished the letter, ice covered most of the surfaces in the room. Her teeth grinding, she rose and marched over to the balcony, threw open the doors, and with a wild scream released a ferocious blast of icy magic into the uncomplaining sky. It brought on a brief snowfall over most of the city, but the flakes melted as soon as they touched anything.

That … that _hideous **ogre!**_ He was _proud_ of himself! Proud of the murders, the rapes, the torture! She almost wished he was still alive so that …

A short tattoo of knocks against her study door caught her attention. With a bit of effort, she reined in her anger, banished the ice from the room, and walked over to the portal.

It was Captain Gunnarsson. He bowed and said, “I would like a moment of your time, Majesty. I have news I think you need to hear.”

“I am not sure this is the best time.”

“It’s information that really should inform your decisions going forward.”

After staring him down for a moment her shoulders slumped. “Sure. Fine. Come in.” She turned away and walked to a divan, easing herself down.

“Your Majesty, as you are aware, we have a network of informants.”

“Spies, you mean.”

“If you will. In any case, word of what happened to Weselton has spread all over Europe.”

“Good. Maybe now they’ll all just leave me alone.”

“Possibly, though that may be an optimistic view. People are stubborn, stupid, prejudiced, and foolhardy, and most royalty, present company excepted, even more so.”

“Thanks. So what is this news that couldn’t wait?”

“Any bit of information that is connected with the fall of Weselton is front page news and prime material for gossip. My men have been keeping their ears and eyes open. What we have discovered … is that the Duke of Weselton didn’t die in the attack.”

Suddenly Elsa was on her feet. Three steps brought her (and a significant cold front) to Eric’s face. “What?”

“He wasn’t killed. Apparently he wasn’t there.”

“He got _away?_ How did he get away?”

“He must have left as soon as you began the attack. Before the ice wall went up.”

“That … that …” She desperately didn’t want to believe it. “How do you know?”

“The Duke was seen in London. He met with Prime Minister Foster, and insisted that they uphold their treaty and send a force to attack Arendelle. It is unclear at this time what Foster’s official response was, but it is entirely possible that warships may be on the way here as we speak.”

“Warships do not concern me. Is the Duke still in Avalon?”

“No. He left shortly thereafter, declaring that he was still too close to Arendelle for his comfort.”

“So he realizes that much, at least.”

“We are still working to find out where he went.”

“If he was in Avalon, he left by ship.”

“Correct.”

“So he’s very probably on the ocean now.”

“It’s likely.”

“Do you have any idea where he **_might_** go?”

“Several. Weselton had treaties with quite a few countries. The ones across the top of Europe are too close to Arendelle, and we don’t feel that he would travel to Africa. That leaves Sardinia, Austria, Portugal, Andalusia, France, Russia, and the West Indies.”

Frowning, she asked, “Do you think he’d go to their Caribbean colony?”

“Doubtful. The word is that his governor there has had to put down two slave riots in the past year. I don’t believe he’d consider it safe.”

“Yes, he’s all too careful about his own skin.” She gritted her teeth against the oaths that desperately wanted to escape. “Perhaps I should send arms to his slaves.”

“We will continue to search. And you will know immediately after I do.”

“Thank you.”

He bowed and left.

Elsa stood in thought for a good while, mulling over her options. She now had the opportunity for some revenge of her own, and made herself a promise to exact it. “But first we have to find him.” A long glance at the balcony preceded a short nod, and she strode that way.

The door was still open. She moved to the edge and rested both hands on the rail, stared up at the sky, considered what she knew. The half-moon hanging near the horizon casting a sharp shadow behind her, she raised one arm and concentrated. A blue-white flash left behind a small bird of ice in her hand. She whispered to it, then let it fly. It would circle the ocean, seeking her enemy, never tiring, investigating any ship it noticed. And Elsa would know.

She spent the next several hours creating more.

. . .

. . .


	11. Chapter 11

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 11 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** August 24, 1843 – 10:00am ** Arendelle Castle Gardens _

“Mr. Morris?”

Brian opened his eyes and turned his head, focusing on the voice. Then he struggled to sit up straight in his wheeled chair. “Your Majesty! Forgive me, I-”

“No, no … you’re fine. I don’t expect convalescents with a broken leg to stand in my presence.”

He kept his back as rigid as possible anyway, despite the pain.

“Please relax.”

“I … um … yes, Your Majesty. I’ll try.”

“It’s good to see you out of bed for once.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d like to talk with you for a bit if you don’t mind.”

“Well … sure. I’m … I mean … you’re the Queen, it’s up to you. Your Majesty.”

Nibbling her lip for a moment, she moved around to face him, created a chair of ice, and sat. “Do you recall telling me about what happened to Anna?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes. I do.”

“Do you recall all that you told me?”

“… I … I guess? Some of … I was … the fever …”

“That’s fine. But I wonder if you’d mind going over it again.”

“… Again? But … why?”

“Because I think you left some things out.”

Instantly he sobered up.

“Ah. You _do_ remember something.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. It was … you were crying so hard already …”

“Mr. Morris, please, I really, **_really_** need to know what happened.”

He wet his lips, his eyes darting from her to the pond. “You … you gave her chocolate, didn’t you?”

Elsa’s throat grew so tight at his question she could only nod at first. Then she wiped her eyes and said, “Truffles.”

“Oh, God.” His sigh was long and full of despair. “I’m sorry. Really. I should have … then maybe …”

Swallowing hard, she managed, “She … reacted badly. It was extreme. Worse than anything else since …” Her voice choked off for a moment. Then she recomposed herself and said, “Tell me what happened. All of it, this time.”

And so he did, recapping everything he’d told her, giving her all he could remember, up until …

. . .

. . .

_ ** July 9, 1843 – around noon ** Aard _

Brian’s shoulder ached abominably, almost as much as the leg he realized his cousin had broken. Or maybe it was one of the mercenaries. He’d had so many beatings, he couldn’t keep track. Everything hurt.

But most of his tears were for the Princess. He had figured out some time ago that the monsters intended to kill the Prince. They were only drawing it out as long as this for their own sick excitement, and to see whether they could drive Anna completely insane. Brian thought that likely. It seemed to him that she had figured it out, too.

From all the screaming she’d done, her voice was nearly gone, but she kept rasping again and again, “Just get it over with. Please, he hurts so much. Just get it over with.”

The mercenary leader finally stalked up to her and slapped Anna repeatedly, calling her a privileged whore, and said, “You wanna get it over with? Tough shit. We ain’t done playin’ yet.”

Kristoff, just barely hanging onto his final thread of consciousness by sheer will, made a noise and twitched feebly. He couldn’t actually speak at that point, having no tongue and a crushed jaw.

One of the other mercenaries came up and spoke in low tones to the leader, who threw his head back and laughed. “Perfect!” The man handed him a bowl.

He got up in Anna’s face, and held the bowl under her nose. “I understand you have a thing for chocolate. Turns out these yokels made some for you.” Then he walked over to Kristoff, used a short knife to gouge out his left eye, and while Anna writhed and cried and begged, he dunked it in the melted chocolate and then forced it into her mouth, holding her jaw shut and pinching her nose until she swallowed.

He sneered, “You should thank me. That’s the only part of him you’ll get to keep … that is, ‘til the next time you have to shit.”

. . .

. . .

_ ** August 24, 1843 – 10:20am ** Arendelle Castle Gardens _

“Dear God in Heaven!” Elsa felt near to swooning.

Brian hung his head. “I’m sorry. It was just too awful. I didn’t think about … didn’t realize that she’d run into chocolate again. And … truffles … never thought about truffles.”

Elsa rose unsteadily and made her way slowly back to the castle, but not before throwing up at the edge of the garden.

. . .

. . .

_ ** September 8, 1843 – 4:15pm ** Arendelle Castle _

“Lisbon, right? That’s what you said? That monster is in Portugal?”

Eric nodded. “Either he’s there or he will be very soon.”

Pacing, pacing, and staring off into the middle distance, Elsa wrung her hands absently. “I knew Weselton had a defense treaty with King Pedro. They’re so far away, though.”

“Not that far. They have quite a history as sea-farers. You may recall that it was a Portuguese captain who first made it around the Cape of Good Hope. From here to London is maybe four days with favorable winds. From London to Lisbon is no more than five.”

“I’ll need a navigator.”

“… Sorry?”

“To go get him. And another force of Marines. We’ll need to plan for-”

“No.”

Her head whipped around, eyes narrowing. “… No?”

“Your Majesty … do you wish to pull Arendelle into another war? Most of Europe is already reconsidering trade with us because of Weselton.”

Once, twice, she opened her mouth to retort … then she deflated. “Eric … I can’t just let this go.”

“Nor am I suggesting that. We know where he is, and Arendelle has legitimate grievances against him. I suggest we try extradition first.”

“What, just ask Pedro pretty please to give us one of his sworn allies? The Portuguese are a temperamental bunch at the best of times.”

“If you send him a detailed account of what the Duke did …”

“Are they not in the throes of internal strife even now?”

“… Ah … well, there **_are_** a lot of important people who aren’t happy with their most recent constitution.”

“Exactly. King Pedro, a preening peacock who has just enough canny intelligence to be dangerous and the hubris to back it up, is working with the conservatives to return full power to the monarchy. The liberal parties oppose his every word. He’s been involved in that for five years now; court intrigues are so thick around the capitol one can barely draw breath. I think the King will be too distracted to notice if we, ah, make a surreptitious extraction.”

“… Oh. So you aren’t intending to freeze Lisbon.”

“Not in the least. Ideally, we find him, we take him, and no one is the wiser.”

“You keep saying ‘we’, as if you intend to go along. While the Council was able to overlook your brief expedition to Weselton, I highly doubt-”

“The Council need not know of it.”

“Your Majesty …” He was obviously restraining an outburst. “Surely you realize that someone will notice if you’re gone for a few weeks.”

Shrug. “I’ll announce a vacation.”

“… You returned to the throne _three weeks_ ago! Who would believe a vaca-”

She slammed a hand down on her desk. Ice shot out in several directions. “ _Damn_ it, Eric, he _broke_ my _sister!_ ”

Wisely, he said nothing for the space of several breaths. “Yes, Your Majesty. He did … plus being responsible for the deaths of the Prince and seventy-five of your subjects.”

“Citizens.”

“Sorry. In any case, I would be the first to state that there is no punishment available that could properly repay him for what he has done to Arendelle, to you. This I know. I also realize that your passions in this matter have little to do with statecraft and everything to do with personal pain.”

“Too right.”

“Which is why you should keep your distance, at least until we get him back here.”

“And wait a month or three or six while mincing diplomats dither over his welfare? I think not. My patience these days is thin.”

Noticing her drawn appearance, he thought, _That isn’t all that’s thin._ “Then we will do it your way.” He held up a hand when her fierce, bright eyes took on a gleam of vengeance. “ ** _We_** … as in, the Marines and I. We will sail down to Lisbon and … retrieve the Duke.”

“With me.”

“Your Majesty … please …”

“I don’t want to lose any of you.”

“Nor do we want to be lost. And the best way to accomplish that is to remain unseen. Similarly, the best way not to lose _you_ is for you to stay here.”

“It will take nine or ten days to sail to Lisbon, will it not?”

That change of course confused him for a second. “… Yyyyes. So?”

“So by the time you got there, he could have moved on to somewhere else. He’s nothing if not crafty.”

“Very well. What’s your point?”

“I can get us there in less than a day.”

He gave her an epic-level eye-roll. “Or you could stay here and take care of your _kingdom_ and let _us_ do our _job_.”

“Not happening. And the kingdom won’t miss me for the three or four days this will take.”

“You may not be aware of this, but you were **_badly_** missed that month you sequestered yourself to take care of Anna.”

“And the Council handled everything that came up.” She took three steps forward, laid a hand on his chest, her eyes diamond-hard. “What this comes down to, Captain, is that I am going to go catch that miserable little pile of filth … and you can come along if you want. I’d prefer it. We worked together beautifully last time.”

“But … but you said you weren’t planning to freeze-”

Her hand moved to cover his mouth. “Nor am I. I will be transportation, and possibly reconnaissance. And, if things become desperate, I’ll be a last resort of force. But settle your mind on this:  I’m going after Baartens. He will be in my power inside three days. This, I swear.”

. . .

. . .


	12. Chapter 12

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 12 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** September 9, 1843 – 8:45pm ** At the mouth of the Tagus River _

Adrenaline will carry someone pretty far, but without sleep, eventually there comes a reckoning. That time had arrived for Elsa.

Captain Gunnarsson was getting more worried about her with each passing minute. When they started out, the catamaran had traveled at a truly frightening rate, hardly even skimming the water, and covering (by his estimate) close to a league per minute. The Queen had kept it up all night, but by mid-morning he could tell they had slowed quite a bit. Now, a few minutes after sunset, they were barely making twenty knots. True, they were nearly within sight of Lisbon, but Elsa was dead on her feet … or, technically, her rear, as she hadn’t been standing for a couple of hours.

Traffic on the water had slowed to a trickle by this time, so Elsa had no difficulty steering them to land. For obvious reasons they couldn’t make dock, so she picked a likely looking piece of shore and guided the craft up onto it. Then she flopped over onto her back. “Okay … great … now, you can … go get the Duke.”

“First, we’ll set up a hidden camp and get you properly secreted.” He picked her up (she’d never been heavy, and with the events of the last month, was down to maybe six and a quarter stone, if that) and carried her into the verge of the light scrub forest. Once all the supplies were ashore, she allowed the catamaran to melt away. The Marines quickly had a hidden, defensible redoubt set up, and put Elsa to bed. She was asleep in three breaths.

Captain Gunnarsson and Sergeant Olin stood and studied her for a minute. The Sergeant fingered the small orb of ice that hung from a chain around his neck and offered, “I don’t much like this.”

“No more than I do. I know she told us to go ahead after the Duke, but the fact remains that we have no boat, now that the one we arrived in has vanished. We need for her to be in reasonable shape if we want to get out of here with our skins.”

“And she’s in no condition to do much running.”

“Exactly.”

“Think she’ll forgive us if we wait here a while and just guard her?”

“You know what they say. Forgiveness is more generously bestowed than permission.”

The Sergeant nodded. “Aimar and Ragnar speak some Portuguese. I’ll send them out to scout the city. Odds are the Duke’s arrival was pretty well advertised.”

“Yeah. He’s not the kind to stay quiet long under these circumstances. And if rumors are true, a half-dozen of the Red Band came with him.”

Olin’s face grew very dark. “That’s one loose end I want to see tied up myself. Bastards.”

“Calling them bastards is high praise. Those evil brutes need killing.”

Nodding, the Sergeant moved away. “I’ll get the men going.”

. . .

. . .

_ ** September 10, 1843 – 6:10am ** _

“Why did you let me _sleep_ so long?!”

Eric had been trying to pacify the Queen for close to five minutes, and was beginning to reconsider that whole ‘Forgiveness’ adage. “If you’ll give me thirty seconds to explain without interrupting me, I’ll-”

“He could have gotten away by now! You don’t know!”

“Actually, I do.”

“… What?”

“I used the time while you slept to scout the city. We know where he’s staying.”

That pulled a grin up on her face. “So he’s not running?”

“Why would he? This is where he ran _to_. He thinks he’s safe.”

“We’ll see about correcting that opinion, then.”

“Indeed. But first, you have to eat.”

She considered his suggestion and shrugged. “That’s sound. I guess there’s breakfast?”

“Dried fish, hard eggs, kraut, flat bread … and some lingonberry butter to go on it. Plus a keg of small beer.”

“Let’s do it.”

. . .

. . .

_ ** 10:45am ** _

Elsa found the waiting most tedious.

Eric left two of the Marines to guard her (though she stated for the record that she didn’t _need_ a guard, and that one person could hide more easily than three) and she was soon glad for their company. Somewhat before ten, Corporals Horst Sletten and Johann Molstad drew her into a lively game of briscola. She lost the first two rounds badly, before picking up on the strategy, but then trounced them in the next five.

Horst gave Johann a sour look and blew a long sigh. “It’s a damn good thing, pardon the expression, Your Majesty, that we weren’t betting on this.”

Elsa smiled broadly. “This is quite a diverting game. Thank you for teaching me. I can hardly wait to get back and play it wi-”

She blinked a few times as that word shriveled, dried, and its husk fell off the end of the sentence. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on one wrist.

They gave her concerned looks when she stopped so suddenly, painfully aware of what she almost said. Johann offered, “I’m sure the Princess will get better with time.”

She didn’t say anything.

“He’s right,” added Horst. “It might take a good while, but … well, people do get better.”

Her lower lids shimmered. A quick blink encouraged a pair of tears to track her cheeks. “Do you know what happened to her?”

“Ah …” The two men looked at each other. Johann shrugged. “I know she saw … saw the Prince … die.”

“Is that all you know?”

“I, um … heard rumors about …” He swallowed, swallowed again. “Sorry, dry throat. I heard some say there was torture involved.”

“One of the Weselton soldiers was a mere boy, horrified by what they did. He managed to get away and gave us all the details. They killed the Guard, and all but one of the servants, immediately. That one, they raped to death. They crucified Kristoff.” Her voice was flat, cold, dark. “They let him watch while a dozen of them raped Anna; the last thing he saw in this life was his true love getting abused worse than a camp whore. Then they made her watch while they tortured him to death.” She raised her eyes to theirs. “It took two hours. She saw her husband taken apart in front of her. They even made her eat some of him. Then she was taken to Weselton. The Duke planned to force her into marriage, to use her as a lever against me.” She turned her head, lay her cheek on her forearms.

The two men were literally speechless. Neither had the vaguest idea of how to respond to that.

After a couple of minutes, Elsa rose and walked to the door of the camouflaged tent. Very quietly she said, “All of that was done on the Duke’s orders. He wanted to make an impression.” Looking back to them, her face set as stone, she continued, “Well … he did.” She held out a hand and calmly, smoothly created one of those hardwater swords. She turned it one way and another in the morning light, examining its length. “Yes, I am very impressed. So much so that I intend to return the favor.” Turning again to gaze out the door, she rested the sword’s point on the ground, lay both hands across the pommel, and spoke no more.

. . .

. . .

The Marines, dressed in grubby civilian clothes and battered caps, traveled in two groups of three and two of two, to avoid looking like a crowd.

Lisbon being the cosmopolitan place it was, there was no such thing as one’s clothes looking ‘foreign’. They all did. And with the preponderance of sailors passing through, dock-workers loitering between jobs, and tradesmen and hawkers going about their business, no one gave them a second look. No one, that is, until they reached the grounds of the Palácio de Belém. At that point the guards shooed them along with stern looks.

Tales of the Duke of Weselton were, as they’d expected, quite the order of the day, and luridly embellished. He had single-handedly defeated the combined military might of Arendelle, but had to run from the Snow Queen’s magic. Or, he had easily out-smarted the Snow Queen, but the monsters she left behind had laid waste to the country and were even now threatening to break its borders. Or, he was here to gather support to mount an assault on the Snow Queen’s fortress. Or, he had tucked tail and run at the first sight of the Snow Queen’s anger (and the reasons for said anger were myriad). And on and on and on.

But one common thread among most of the fantastic tales was the notion that the Duke had come to the King of Portugal for help. That would make sense, given their treaty relationship. They’d assumed he would be staying in the royal quarters at the Palácio Nacional da Ajuda, but that turned out not to be the case, as there was extensive construction going on. There was a secondary palace (just the city of Lisbon was MUCH larger and more prosperous than all of Arendelle) near the river mouth that served as temporary quarters for visiting peers, and the Duke qualified. It was also heavily guarded, since the royal family was living there while the other palace was being renovated.

The Marines had gathered in a dim alley across from the Palace’s front façade. Sergeant Olin observed, “This isn’t going to be easy.”

Eric gave him a sardonic look and asked, “Figure that out by yourself, did you?”

Olin barked a short laugh. “So what’s our move, Cap?”

“Going in by the front door is dead on arrival. Let’s make a circuit of the palace and meet back here in two hours.”

When they reconvened, one squad reported on the horse-training area just west of the Palace. “There aren’t as many guards, but there are a LOT of stable hands and trainers. Still, it may be our best shot at getting inside.”

“It’s looking more and more like we’ll have to shoot our way out.”

Corporal Johansson shrugged. “If it comes to that, at least we have the Queen’s armor.” He held up his orb.

“True enough. But we could still get mobbed.”

Lieutenant Haaken spoke up. “Sounds like it’s going to be an issue of speed again.”

Eric nodded. “I agree. We can probably get inside and find him, but we’ll likely have no chance to get him out quietly. It’s going to be a race getting back to the Queen.”

“Or she might be able to come and meet us halfway. She’ll know where we are.”

“That’s a last resort. The fewer people who know she’s here, the better.”

“Right.”

“Okay, then, let’s go scope out that training ground.”

. . .

. . .

_ ** 10:05pm ** _

** “Come-on-come-on-come-on-come-on-come- _on!_ ” **

“Majesty, calm down.”

“They’ll get caught!”

Horst tried to distract her. “Where are they now?”

“Running along the Damião de Góis! The Palace Guard isn’t even a block behind them!”

“Can you see how many-”

“No! There’s only one orb that’s still an orb, and it’s facing the wrong … dear **_God_**!”

“What?!”

“A few arrows just whizzed by!”

“They’re in your armor. They’ll be safe. And if the Palace Guard stopped to fire their crossbows, we’ll have an even bigger lead on them.”

Elsa paced quickly back and forth in the tiny clearing, wringing her hands. Horst and Johann had broken camp as soon as word came through that the team had the Duke, and were even now getting everything packed tightly for mobility.

Johann stood in front of her, making her pull up short. “Your Majesty, if you would, please get our ship ready.”

She blinked a few times but then nodded. “Of … of course. Yes, it needs to be waiting on them.”

“Place it in the water right off shore, and put a long, wide plank between it and land so the men can run up it onto the boat.”

“Right. Good plan.” And she did just that.

Not quite six minutes later the Marines came pounding through the sparse woods and sped up onto the boat. Two of them dumped a lumpy bundle onto the deck. It squirmed and made muffled noises until one of the other men kicked it. Elsa disintegrated the ramp and then urged the catamaran out into the river. Less than a minute later they were out of sight of land.

. . .

. . .


	13. Chapter 13

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 13 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** September 13, 1843 – 10:00am ** Arendelle Castle Dungeon _

There were but four cells in the dungeon, and they’d hardly ever seen any use. In fact, Elsa herself had been the most recent client, two days after her coronation. So it was hardly surprising that it would be dusty. And moldy. And cold.

This wasn’t one of the Duke’s better experiences. Nor was it destined to improve.

He sat on the hard wooden bench, curled up as tightly as possible against the chill of the stone, fuming intensely over how unfair life could be. The guards had stripped him of his ducal finery and given him this threadbare tunic instead. Now his feet were cold all the time. At least they hadn’t fastened him to the wall.

He’d turned up his nose at the gruel they served him, and demanded a meal fit for his station. Their grim smiles as they took the gruel away did not comfort him. That had been yesterday. No other food appeared, and now he longed for a bowl of the stuff.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. He sat up. Maybe this was breakfast? He watched the door as it swung wide. But he hadn’t expected this particular visitor.

Elsa stood just inside the opening, staring at him.

He glowered. “What do _you_ want?”

“Oh, I have what I want, as far as you’re concerned.” Her voice was light, her tone at extreme odds with the ferocity of her face. She sidled a bit farther into his cell, examining him as though he were something scraped from the bottom of a cesspool. “And as soon as I’ve found and exterminated the last of the mercenaries you hired, we’ll begin our … fun.”

The emphasis she placed on that final word chilled him worse than the cold stone. “You can’t do this to me! I have allies! They’ll come! They’ll blast your insignificant kingdom to dust!”

“Allies?”

“Avalon! And Portugal! Their military might will-”

“Avalonian warships? You mean like the four I sent to the bottom of the sea a couple of weeks ago?”

“… I … what?”

“Sailing ships are, after all, such fragile little things. Crushing your navy, for example, was a snap.” She grinned. “Literally. Quickly accomplished with a minimum of fuss. Taking Avalon’s ships apart was just as easy. Easier, given that they were on open water.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say.

Elsa held out a hand, whereupon a tiny blue-white bird flew in through the high window and landed on her palm. “Do you see this, Baartens?”

His mouth opened, closed, opened. “Is that … is that …”

“Yes. It is made of ice. I made it.” The bird took to the air, flying tight circles around the room. “I made a lot of them. They are my eyes here in Arendelle, along the coast, up in the mountains, across the inner seas and farther away. I have learned much recently, and little of it makes me happy.” Her eyes bored into his. “You may be an extreme example of the depraved depths that men can plumb, but you are _hardly_ unique.” She waved a hand, and ice erupted in front of him, snaking up and around the former Duke, gripping his arms, lifting him more than his height from the hard floor. He shrieked, but then ice covered his mouth.

Elsa wandered back toward the door, ran a hand up the rough wood, turned a sly glance back his way. “You think you know something about cold. You don’t. But you’ll learn.” She waved away his gag and glided out.

. . .

. . .

_ ** September 16, 1843 – 5:20pm ** Just North of Arendelle _

The Queen of Arendelle sat alone in the top of a tower of her own manufacture. She’d spent most of an hour early in the day constructing it, using a rocky outcropping as a base and giving it four buttresses for stability. It needed them, being some five hundred man-heights tall.

She sat on a chaise lounge of ice under the open sky. Her eyes were closed. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t see.

From Eric she had gotten the approximate locations of many of his spies, and had been sending her birds out to find them. So far she’d located eighteen. They were bright, these men and women, and each had figured out what the bird represented. Speaking to it did no good, of course, but Elsa could read through its eyes. And just now she’d gotten a welcome bit of news.

The Red Band (the baker’s dozen that were left of them) were on their way to the Americas. They’d left Cadiz three days prior, bound for St. Augustine, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the Ice Witch as possible. They’d been in Lisbon when the Duke was taken, and realized just how long her reach could be. They were wicked, not stupid.

She allowed herself a tiny smile. This was going to be like plucking fish from a barrel.

. . .

. . .

_ ** September 18, 1843 – near dusk ** Five Days west of the Iberian Peninsula _

The lookout had spotted the object on the northeast horizon a mere twenty minutes earlier. And now it loomed over the sailing ship, enormous and sparkling and cold.

At first the Captain had passed out arms to the men, but when the size and speed of the other craft became apparent, he put them back again. He’d been to Arendelle twice in the last year, and had seen Elsa both times. He knew the stories, though he’d thought some of them a bit fanciful (she was a slip of a girl … how much power could even _fit_ in such a willowy frame?) but this fantastic construction could have come from nowhere else.

They’d had a brisk wind pushing them along nicely, but it died as the huge thing approached, leaving them becalmed. It was then that he _knew_ this was the work of the Snow Queen.

It came up to within perhaps thirty paces and just … stopped. Then, to his stark amazement, the ocean around his ship solidified, locking the two craft together. A long, frozen tongue extruded from the ice-ship’s front, carrying Queen Elsa of Arendelle and depositing her on the poop deck. She was encased in glowing ice, plated like an old-time knight except that her armor was transparent. In one hand was a translucent, blue-white saber. Giving the Captain a steady look, she said, “Permission to come aboard, Captain.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Please, yes, make yourself at home Your Majesty.”

“I don’t wish to be here long. I am merely seeking the men who dared to rape my sister and kill her husband.”

The Captain’s mouth fell open. “What … who …”

“The call themselves the Red Band, and a more degraded and evil group of mercenaries you are unlikely to meet. They boarded your ship in Cadiz. I want them.”

“Yes, yes, of course, right away!”

But the mercenaries were in no mood to come quietly. They had sneaked up on deck during the excitement and now drew a bead with their long arms and fired at the Queen.

Much good it did them.

Some of the weapons, due to humidity, failed to fire. Some missed. Some struck the Queen, but her armor was easily proof against bullets; they didn’t even mark it. She smiled at them. “There you are.”

Long tentacles of ice shot from her ship, each wrapping around one of the mercenaries. They were hauled aloft and shaken like rats in the jaws of a terrier, then flung down to the deck. Each was then entrapped in an icy cage which shrank and tightened until they could barely breathe.

She studied them. “… nine, ten, eleven … there are only twelve. Thirteen boarded.” Turning her gaze on the Captain, she said, “Kindly produce the other one.”

He sent men below, who soon discovered where the last of the Band was hiding, and quickly subdued him. He joined his companions in confinement.

Elsa then gave her audience a detailed explanation of what these men had done. By the time she was finished three of the crew had had to lean over the side and most were in tears.

“These are the last of the culprits. I have already dealt with the others, and those horrid brutes will harm no one else. Now see justice done.”

The cages shifted, altered, attenuated. It soon became plain that the mercenaries’ hands and feet were each encased in blocks of ice, and the ice was moving apart very slowly. She transported them out over the ocean and continued this novel method of execution as each man in turn was stretched to the point where he broke apart. Most of them popped in two at the waist, the two halves remaining connected by a few spans of intestine. Some lost their arms. All were then unceremoniously dumped into the water.

Dispassionately, Elsa watched the pieces floating there, and then turned back to the Captain. “I do apologize for interrupting your voyage. In recompense, I will see to it that you have good wind for the rest of your journey.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!”

“Also, I would give you this.” And she handed him the saber.

Flabbergasted, he took it, his hands trembling just the slightest bit. “Thank you – again – Your Majesty.”

“That blade is exceedingly sharp. It will never dull. It can’t be broken. Use it well.” Then her icy platform lifted her, retreated, vanished into the other craft. The sea instantly thawed. The ice ship spun in place and sped back the way it had come. And a very fresh breeze filled their sails.

“Captain?”

He turned to his First Mate, drew a long breath. “Yes?”

“You see those bullets bounce off ‘er?”

“I did.”

“She did all that for her sister.”

“Apparently.”

“The stories about her were shit.”

“No kidding.”

“You been to Arendelle, right? What kinda place is it that can turn out somethin’ like her?”

He shook his head. “Don’t think it was the place. It was the circumstance. She was born with that power, but nobody even knew about it at all until her coronation three years back. If you ask me, she would have stayed in Arendelle her whole life and never bothered anybody … except she was … provoked.”

“Remind me never to do that.”

He looked at the magical sword in his hand, and grinned. “Me, too.”

. . .

. . .

On her way back home, Elsa lifted the Winter from Weselton. She made up her mind to see to it that the _real_ winter arriving in another month or so would be a very mild one.

. . .

. . .


	14. Chapter 14

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Chapter 14 **

. . .

. . .

_ ** October 16, 1843, 10:20am ** Arendelle Castle _

No sound broke the quiet, apart from the faint scratching of Elsa’s quill on yet another parchment. ‘Keeping busy’, as her Council had recommended, served to make sure that the kingdom ran smoothly. It didn’t do much for her peace of mind, though.

Most days since Elsa’s final revenge on the mercenaries, Anna had been … listless. Not enraged, not anguished, just … maybe a bit pathetic. She’d taken to wandering the halls at all hours, staring out the windows, staring at a painting, staring off at nothing. Elsa assigned half a dozen of the Guard to strategic areas around the castle, to make sure Anna was never alone. Just in case.

The Princess would answer questions now, usually, if they were asked gently. Sometimes her answers didn’t make a lot of sense, but she seemed slowly to be improving. Slowly. She had come into Elsa’s study twice in the last week, to sit quietly in one of the chairs. The first time she only stayed a few minutes, but the second time she stayed for most of an hour. Elsa had inquired whether she was hungry and had received (to her delight!) an affirmative reply. They’d shared an afternoon tea and a few sentences of conversation, and Elsa had positively floated through the rest of the day.

Today, though, was the first time she’d shown up before noon.

“Elsa?”

It was also the first time she’d initiated the conversation.

The Queen rose and glided over to her sister. She held out her hands, and Anna hesitantly took them. “Yes, Dear One?”

“I’d … I’d like to visit Mama and Papa.”

Elsa’s heart swelled. “Certainly! When did you want to go?”

“… Now? Is … is now … okay?”

“Absolutely.” She studied the younger woman’s attire for a second, . “Let’s get your cloak and some boots. It is quite blustery today, and threatening rain.”

Two of the Guard accompanied them, first in the royal carriage and then ten respectful steps behind as they climbed the grassy incline to the promontory. Anna stopped some twenty paces from the two large stones and turned to Elsa. Her eyes shimmered, but her voice was steady. “Can I … sorry, _may_ I go talk to them alone? To begin with?”

“Uh … very well. Yes, of course. I’ll wait here.”

“Thanks.” The Princess gave Elsa a watery smile and her hand a long squeeze, then walked slowly until she stood in front of her father’s stone. Elsa couldn’t hear what she said:  her voice was low, and the stiff, heavily-mist-laden breeze was blowing her words sideways. She spoke for a few minutes, leaned forward and kissed the stone, then repeated the process with their mother’s memorial, after which she simply rested her forehead against the rough, wet rock. A few rolls of thunder echoed in the distance.

Elsa wasn’t one to fidget, but as the minutes dragged by and the slight rainfall picked up into a steady downpour, forcing her to erect an umbrella of ice over her head, she began to wonder what was going on in her sister’s mind, and felt a need to ask. But then Anna stood straight, squared her shoulders and walked between the stones and steadily away down the grassy slope.

Elsa frowned. _What is she doing now?_ Raising her voice to be heard over the rain, she called, “Anna?”

The younger woman never paused her stride.

“Anna! Where are you going!?”

She took a few more steps, turned and gave her sister a wistful smile that Elsa could just barely make out, unclasped her cloak and let it fall to the ground, and then stepped out of her boots, hiked her skirts and sprinted straight away toward the edge of the promontory.

It was suddenly all too clear to Elsa what was about to happen. She screamed, “ANNAAAA!” and tried to throw up a barrier of snow in front of her, but mis-judged the distance because of the rain and dropped it behind the girl. That was quickly banished, and the next barrier, of ice, appeared just in front of her.

_ “ANNA, STOP!” _

The Princess never slowed her stride, leaping and catching the top of the wall, then heaving herself over in one smooth motion.

**_ “ANNA! NOOOO!” _ **

Elsa allowed that wall, too, to disintegrate, hoping against hope that she could catch Anna one more time.

She had just a bare second to spot her precious little sister before the girl leaped over the cliff’s edge.

. . .

. . .

_ ** October 19, 1843, 9:00pm ** Arendelle Castle _

Kai stopped in front of the tall, white doors. The sounds of sobbing came clearly from the other side. He knocked lightly twice. “Your Majesty?”

No answer.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Your Majesty? I have some … um … Gerda was going through Anna’s things in preparation for the funeral. She found a letter addressed to you.”

The sobbing moved closer to the door, which then opened. Wiping at her deeply reddened eyes, Elsa gulped and asked, “What? A letter?”

Kai held it out to her.

“… But.”

“We didn’t open it. It was under her pillow.”

Elsa stared at it in deep trepidation.

Kai turned it so she could see the front. It was addressed, “ _To Elsa, for After_ ”.

“I … I don’t …”

“You really should probably read it. At least take it and read it before the funeral on Saturday.”

Wordlessly, Elsa slid it off Kai’s palm, and shut the door. Walking unsteadily to her bed, she carefully eased herself down, laid her hands in her lap, and stared at the missive for nearly a quarter hour. Finally shaking her head with a long sigh, she opened the envelope and unfolded the letter, revealing Anna’s rapid script.

_Elsa –_

_ This is the fifth time I’ve written this out. I keep crying and messing it up. But I think I got it all down this time._

_ I hope you can manage to forgive me. But I just couldn’t take the memories any longer. I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t. I will never be free of the image of my beautiful husband, broken and hanging from those cruel bayonets. Never free of the knowledge that his last sight was of my humiliation. Yes, I remember what they did to me. Those images and hundreds more are with me constantly. There is no escaping them here. But perhaps I can escape them in death. Perhaps I can see Kristoff again, whole and happy. Perhaps God will forgive me this lapse. But I honestly don’t see an alternative. It just hurts too much._

_ My sweet Sister, you are my hero. You’ve been so, so good with me, taking such amazing care of me, putting up with all my crap. You just don’t know how much that has meant to me. The knowledge that the evil men who hurt us are gone, that they will never have a chance to do that to anyone else, has helped. It allowed me to sleep, sort of. It gave me time to go over my options with something like a clear head. But the one thing this last month has proven to me past doubt is that I can’t take it anymore._

_ I know you will mourn my passing, and that makes me sadder than anything else connected with what I am about to do. I would never, ever want to cause you a minute of pain. No one could ever ask for a more perfect sister than you. Your whole life has been devoted to my well-being, and I have never really been able to express how precious that love is to me. It’s the one thing I have left that I cherish enough to take with me into the next life._

_ I can’t tell you how to feel, and I won’t try. You’re going to be mad at me, and nothing I can do will stop that. You will probably be sad for a long time. I know I would be if you left me (I know, because for thirteen years I was). But please understand that this decision has nothing to do with you and is in no way your fault. Please know that I love you, I appreciate you, and I would never, never, never do anything to hurt you if it could be avoided. But Elsa, my pain is bigger than that. It’s bigger than I am. It’s eating me alive. And I have to stop it. I have to. The choice is no longer mine. I can do it this way, or wait around for the pain to kill me instead. And I’m just so tired. So very tired._

_ I would ask one final thing, one last favor. If it’s too hard, or too dangerous, then you’ll need to find another way, but I’d ask you to do what you can to stop other evil men, should you happen across them. I know that the men who hurt me are not the only ones. You were able to rescue me, and for that you have my eternal thanks. I can’t conceive of the Hell that would have been my life in Weselton. This is so much better, even if we have to be apart._

_ But you did rescue me. You have such power as no one else in the world can match. I’ve overheard all sorts of stories of what you did to Weaseltown. I think there may be other people, elsewhere, who need rescuing just as much as I did. And I think maybe they would be more successful than I’ve been at carrying on with life. It’s something to think about._

_ Elsa, I love you. I really, really do. I hope we can meet again, but hopefully not for many long decades. Your rule will bring a new Golden Age to Arendelle. I’m confident that you’ll carry our kingdom into the next century. I can be content in that knowledge too._

_ I guess that’s all. Please, please understand that my pain was in no way your fault, that my decisions were my own. I love you. So much._

_Anna_

Dawn’s pre-light was showing through her window before her tears were spent and she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

. . .

. . . __


	15. Epilogue

** Served Cold **

_ by Concolor _

. . .

. . .

** Epilogue **

. . .

. . .

_ ** March 2, 1844, 10:30am ** Arendelle Castle _

“I will admit,” said the Queen, “to a bit of surprise upon your arrival. Most people don’t chance travel this far north this early in the year.”

“Under normal conditions that is true,” he said, as he stood carefully erect before her. “But the fact that the sea lanes are completely clear, a month before they would normally have begun to thaw, is widely known. Given Arendelle’s role in the abduction of the Duke, the King insisted that I make the effort.”

Portugal’s Ambassador was smooth. She’d give him that. He was close to three times her age and had been doing this longer than she’d been alive, so his command of political situations was fairly profound. That became clear in the first few minutes of their meeting. Even though she was expecting it, even _looking_ for it, he managed to use her own words to couch Portugal as the injured party.

“And so you must understand that our request that you release the Duke is both proper and reasonable. Good form and international relations depend upon a predictable level of decorum in these cases, and … what?”

She had held up a hand to stop him. “Ambassador Fonseca, I wonder if you would do me the honor of walking with me?”

He was nothing if not flexible, stepping forward and offering her his hand. “I would be delighted. I trust we can continue the conversation?”

“Assuredly.”

They spent some twenty minutes strolling through the castle, with the Ambassador doing most of the talking and Elsa making polite, single-syllable responses where appropriate. They walked through the hall of royal portraits, where he displayed an unsettling familiarity with her lineage. She gave him a calculating look, thinking, _He’s really done his homework … in one respect at least._ Then, after leaving there, Elsa turned them right, deeper into the castle. Down another hall and after a sharp left through a small anteroom, they came to a large, imposing double-door. He frowned, studying it, and noted that there were no handles or knobs or any other obvious means of opening it. “Is this … ice?”

“It is.”

He pressed a finger against it. “Did you make it?”

“Yes.”

Examining that finger and then rubbing it with a thumb, he asked, “How do you keep it from melting?”

Her reply was serene. “Magic.”

Pursed lips comprised his response.

Elsa waved a hand, and the doors swung inward. “Please, come in. I’d like to give you something and show you something.”

The room beyond stretched away from them for about twenty paces, and was maybe a third that wide. Short, cylindrical pedestals of ice made two rows up the sides, and all but one were empty. A long, low table occupied the far end, and it was to that spot Elsa made her way, the Ambassador following in growing confusion.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes?” She stopped in front of the table, which Fonseca could see was stacked with several dozen copies of a slim, leather-bound volume.

“What is this room?” He was eyeing the nearest pedestal, the only one in the place that held anything. It appeared to be a rectangular block some two ells square and three high, and was covered with opaque, white frost.

Elsa ignored his question, instead picking up one of the books and handing it to the Ambassador. “We received the second printing just this week. The first run was short, and all of them have already been sent out. This is yours to keep. I would encourage you to share it with your friends once you return home.”

He frowned at the title. “What is ‘The Ogres’? Is this a fairy tale?”

“If only it had been. No, this is an accurate, eye-witness accounting of the atrocities visited upon Arendelle by Alan Baartens, formerly the Duke of Weselton, and a brief description of my response. I believe you will find it … enlightening.”

The Ambassador was quick to object, “Sir Baartens is _still_ the Duke of Weselton. Being held a prisoner here doesn’t lift the title.”

“True. But being dead does.”

“… I beg your pardon?”

“You inquired as to the nature and purpose of this room. You may consider this my trophy room, if you like.”

“I don’t understand.”

She was staring off at nothing. “The Duke attacked Arendelle. It was an act of war. He murdered a small village, men, women, children, leaving not one soul alive, and lay in wait for the Princess’s party. My sister’s husband was then tortured to death in front of her, after she had been …” She stopped for a moment, swallowed. “… had been severely abused in front of him. The pain of that experience was so horrific that she … took her own life. On the sixteenth of October last Fall. The entire kingdom is still in mourning.”

“… My God. That’s what all the black bunting is for! I’d wondered if it was a national day of remembrance, or …”

“Yes. Although her death was not noised abroad, every Arendellian knows. She was beloved of the people.” Taking a long, deep breath, she continued, “As you are aware, I … retaliated. Weselton paid the price for his indiscretion. I’d thought him dead with the destruction of his palace, his navy, and his harbor. I certainly tried hard enough. When I learned that the Duke had escaped my wrath, I had him found and taken from where he was hiding in Lisbon. I also made sure to completely wipe out the mercenary force he had employed in the attack.” She raised her eyes to his. “Completely. Those … monsters … are currently roasting in Hell.”

“So the Duke is … do you mean to say you had him killed?”

Considering his words, she answered, “I’d alter your phrasing somewhat. I didn’t **_have_** him killed. I did it myself.”

He took a slow step back. Another.

Elsa glided over to the frosted column. “I did it for two reasons. First, I didn’t want to shift the onus of the execution to anyone else. And second …” She moved her hand over the icy surface, which instantly became clear as air. “… second, I desired to feel his life’s essence flow out between my fingers.”

The Ambassador stumbled back with a gasp. _“Mãe de Deus!”_

Suspended in the ice, the ex-Duke’s expression was one of ultimate horror and exquisite pain. His left eye socket was empty. Both ears were missing, as was the front half of his lower jaw. Much of the skin had been stripped from his chest and shoulders. Both legs ended at the knee, his right arm below the shoulder and his left from above the elbow, all four stumps blackened and shriveled. His genitals were gone, and the ragged hole left behind seemed to indicate they’d been pulled off rather than cut.

Elsa placed a palm flat against the ice, regarding the shattered thing within. Her voice was calm and controlled, low and content. “It took him … a really, really long time to die.”

Fonseca backed away smoothly.

“So,” continued the Queen, turning to him and clasping her hands before her, “that’s what this room is for.”

He swallowed. Hard.

A tiny smirk appeared on her face. “Oh, don’t be such a baby. Portugal has nothing to fear from me.” Her brows drew together just perceptibly. “That is, as long as you play nice. I know that you have a mutual-support treaty with Weselton, and for that I don’t fault you. But, to use Baartens’s own words, I had a legitimate grievance against him. The difference is that I was able to prosecute it.” She waved a hand, and frost again covered the Duke’s icy prison. Catching Fonseca’s eye, she explained, “I don’t like to startle the maid when she sweeps. She’s of a delicate constitution.”

“… Delicate?”

“She’s a rescue.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“There was a band of slavers that specialized in kidnapping young women to sell to … perverse men. She was one of their captives, the only one who had no home to return to, as the pirates had razed her village. So I gave her a home here.” Gazing off at something far away, she continued, “She still has a lot of healing to do, so her duties are very light.”

“I, ah, I see. I see. And the, ah, slavers?”

She shrugged. “They were alive when I left them. Of course, they were many leagues from land with no ship, they were all bleeding, and those waters were quite thick with sharks. I suppose it’s possible that some of them may have lived.” A subtle smile graced her lips. “But I doubt it.”

The Ambassador was silent as he followed Elsa back to the room they’d used originally. When she had seated herself and indicated the generous ‘Elevenses’ laid out for them, he cleared his throat. “Your Majesty … may I speak plainly?”

“I wish you would.”

“That was exceedingly unsettling.”

“I do believe it got my point across, though.”

“If your point was _‘Leave Arendelle alone or suffer a hideous death’_ , then I’d say it did.”

“Well, then, I didn’t waste my time, did I?” Her lovely features were placid and composed. She seemed pleased with herself.

He regarded her closely for a few breaths, shrugged, and took a seat. The two topmost layers of a beautiful little _kransekake_ served for his snack, though after nibbling one, he found he had no appetite. A mug of apple cider and a small bottle of _akvavit_ supplied his drink. He sipped the juice and asked, “How many other people know of your, ah, trophy room?”

“Well, there was Ambassador Burridge, of Avalon; he came by last week to sue for peace.”

“Sue for peace? Were you at war?” If so, it had been a very quiet one.

“Not technically. But Avalon took a more, um, _proactive_ stance concerning their treaty with Weselton than did Portugal. You gave him aid and comfort. They sent warships.”

“… Did they, now?”

“Indeed.”

“I didn’t notice any evidence of bombardment in the city.”

“They weren’t allowed to get that close.”

He chewed on that a moment. “Not allowed? Your navy intercepted them?”

“They ran afoul of a sea monster, as I understand it.”

He stilled, blinked a few times, and swallowed with a bit of difficulty. “I see. And are, ah, sea monsters common in these waters?”

“They are now. When they need to be.”

She took a dainty sip of tea. He, after a long moment, set his _kransekake_ back down on the table. Half a minute passed in silence. “Anyone else?”

“Mr. George Lay, of the United States. He’s actually the _Charge d’Affairs_ for their embassy in Sweden, but he was relatively close and when he heard of Anna’s death, he took the initiative to reach out.”

“And, ah, what was his reaction?”

“He opened the book and began reading before I got to the point of showing Baartens to him. It gripped him rather quickly, so I allowed him to finish it first.”

“Ah. I see.” He realized he’d been using that phrase a lot, perhaps due to shock, and cleared his throat. “And then?”

“He was … extremely exercised over what Baartens did. All but demanded an opportunity to work his will upon him. When I revealed the corpse, he stared at it for a time, gave a single nod, shook my hand, and left.”

Fonseca eyed the book in question. “I suppose that would indicate that I should read this as soon as possible.”

“That depends. The author was quite detailed in his descriptions. Graphic, even. If your gorge is easily upset, you should wait until tomorrow morning and read it before breaking your fast. In no wise should you use it as bedtime reading.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“If you would like, we may …” Her eyes unfocused.

The pause was long enough that he cleared his throat. “Yes? Your Majesty?”

Flicking her gaze his way, she held up an elegant hand, rose, and went to the near window. He followed her.

“Is something wrong?”

“In a manner of speaking. Would you please move over there against the wall between the windows?” As he did, a shimmering sheen of ice enveloped her. She unlatched the window and pushed it open.

“What is-”

Something _**pinged**_ off of the ice covering her forehead, and buried itself in the ceiling. “Ah. There he is.” She made a small motion with one hand.

Not ten seconds later, a large bubble of ice floated in through the window. The figure within was swathed head-to-toe in black cloth.

“Dear God! An assassin!”

“Yes. Again. He doesn’t seem capable of learning any new tricks.” The ice cocoon formed itself to the wildly struggling being inside, bringing complete immobility. It then whiffed away from the assassin’s head. The whole assembly turned sideways and floated over to where Elsa could reach it. She tore off the cloth, revealing a shock of long red hair …

The Ambassador’s mouth dropped open. “My word.”

“Well. So they sent a woman this time. How novel.” Elsa smirked and patted the girl’s cheek. “That was a very good shot, by the way. It would have splattered anyone else’s brains all over the far wall.”

The girl gritted her teeth but didn’t say anything.

“Looks like another one for my collection.” Canting her gaze over toward Fonseca, she added, “This one makes five.”

“… Five **_assassins?!?_** ”

“Five that I’ve caught and kept, after I decided that would be better than just pulling their limbs off and tossing them into the fjord. There were four of those.” She made that statement in a matter-of-fact, almost understated tone.

Fonseca began to feel ill.

“Would you like to see them?”

He had to think that over. This was definitely going to fall under ‘Too Revolting to Contemplate, but Too Compelling to Ignore’. He only dithered a moment, though, before nodding his head.

“Excellent. Follow me, please.”

The three of them (one quite unwilling) went downstairs, picking up a two-man Guard detail as they left the Royal Family areas. After a minute, he asked, “You said, ‘He’. Do you know where the assassins are originating?”

“Oh, yes. I knew they were coming long before they got here.”

“…”

She dimpled. “I have my ways.”

They came to a sally door and exited to a side courtyard.

“… Well … then, why … Can’t you just get them to stop? They are obviously wasting their money trying to kill you.”

“True, but it’s so much more fun to let them try.”

“… Fun.”

“Ha! You should see his face every time he learns that one of his assassins failed. Priceless!”

“… I don’t … um …” _Too many questions!_ “Are you at liberty to reveal his identity?”

She sent him a calculating sidelong glance. “And what would you do with that information if you had it?”

“Steer clear of him. Assassination is nothing but a blunt instrument, and usually the last resort of the unsuccessful diplomat. If there is someone in a position of power who thinks it a good idea, I want to be far, far away from him, and preferably anonymous.”

“Good answer.” She didn’t say anything else until they came to the castle gardens. The assassin, floating along beside the Queen, hadn’t made a single sound. “Wait just a moment more.” Directing her Guard to stand by the gate, she led Fonseca into the grounds. When they were out of earshot, she murmured, “He’s the Duke of Turku, Bruuno Laukkanen.”

That gave him a bad feeling. Turku was the largest city in Finland, and the Duke held enormous sway there. “Why does he want you dead?”

“Because he’s a superstitious ass, and it was simple to get his attention. I make an easy target. Or so he thought. He may eventually re-think that position if I let him.”

“… If you _let_ him?”

“Oh, yes. I poke that hornet’s nest regularly these days. And here we are.”

Fonseca stared. The four statues were arrayed in a loose group in front of the fountain. The first figure was on one knee, hands gripping his head, his mouth forever gaping wide in a shriek of agony. The second was curled up on his side, arms clenched on his midsection, lips drawn back in a grimace. The third was kneeling with his arms up and head turned as if bracing for a blow. The fourth was in a standing pose, back severely arched as if suffering a seizure. Fonseca noticed something, and checked the other figures:  all were missing the tip of the right thumb. He pointed that out.

“Yes, I send that bit back to Laukkanen by special courier. That way he knows he failed again. I have the courier deliver the package at a specific time so that I know to watch when he opens it.”

“… Watch? What do you mean?”

“I mean that my magic, once I lost my fear of using it, is extremely versatile.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Ah. Found him.”

“The Duke?”

“No, no, I knew where he was already. I meant King Pedro.”

“Wait! Wait … you mean to tell me you can _see_ the King? Right now?”

“He’s getting ready for lunch. Putting on his finery, so there must be an important guest or some national holiday.”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “Do you have pen and parchment?”

“I can have someone get them for you if you wish.”

Looking around at the otherwise deserted garden, he shrugged and said, “Describe for me what he is wearing.”

She did so, and he repeated it to himself.

A pleased grin appeared on her face. “You’re going to check my story! Very good.” She turned her attention to the assassin.

The girl was staring intently at Elsa, but there was no fear there. The Queen said, “If you wish, I can send condolences to your family. But I’ll have to know your name for that.”

“Thank you, no.” It was her first utterance; her accent was pronounced. Elsa thought she might be of Irish extraction.

“Is that your last word? Think carefully. Just because you kill innocent people for a living doesn’t mean that someone, somewhere doesn’t love you.”

“It does in my case.”

“Very well.” The ice changed around the assassin’s right hand, shifting and creating an opening. Elsa reached in and grabbed her thumb; the ice sheared it off cleanly.

To her credit, and Elsa’s admiration, the girl didn’t make a sound, only wincing slightly.

“Hmm. You have more courage than the men did … or at least a higher pain tolerance.” Elsa tapped a finger a few times against her lower lip. “You get to choose your pose.”

The girl raised an eyebrow.

Indicating the other statues, Elsa explained, “These men offered me no respect, and exhibited no bravery. So they died in the throes of agony. Their positions show that clearly. You, on the other hand, haven’t insulted me at all.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why, indeed.” With a gesture, Elsa rid the girl of her icy cover (and all her clothing).

Staring hard at Elsa for a moment, the girl shrugged and then seated herself on the ground, relaxed and cross-legged. Placing her forearms on her knees, she raised her chin and closed her eyes, murmuring, “It’s a better death than I’d expected.” A tiny smile ghosted across her lips.

The transformation to blue ice was nearly instantaneous.

. . .

. . .

“The point of this exercise, Ambassador, is to keep him busy, to keep him focused on me.” She took another sip of her tea, setting the cup down with a muted tinkle. “The effort to kill me has consumed him to the point that it has taken the place of all his other diversions.” Her face took on a hard set. “And that saves the virtue of approximately one young girl per week.”

“… What?”

“He’s another monster. He keeps it very quiet, but he has some truly frightful appetites. Sometimes he buys them. Sometimes he just has them snatched off the street. Any young, pretty girl that catches his eye is in danger. But he has a very short attention span. He would hardly ever keep one more than a week or ten days.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“For over a year, to the best of my knowledge, up until about two months ago when his vendetta against me began to consume him wholly.”

“Ah. About that vendetta. You mentioned something earlier about ‘poking the hornet’s nest’. What does that mean?”

“Well, for example, in addition to sending back the assassin’s thumb, I’ll freeze over a few berths in the harbor, or leave a huge block of ice across one of his main roads.” She suppressed a giggle. “I once festooned his bedroom with icicles.”

He simply stared at her for a moment. “From here?”

“Of course.”

“That’s … quite a reach.”

“I did mention that my magic was versatile. It allowed me to observe his victims.”

“That’s another thing:  how could he keep them? How could he get away with it? Surely one of them would have spoken up!”

“He kept them drugged. I have spoken with three of the girls. They remembered nothing.”

Fonseca frowned. “How did you get an opportunity to speak with …” His voice trailed off in the face of her secretive smile. “You know what? Never mind.”

“I have my ways.”

“It also occurs to me to wonder why you don’t simply kill him.” Gesturing in the direction of the gardens, he said, “That doesn’t seem to present you much difficulty.”

“Not for _his_ sake. He has the governing bodies of Turku in a constant state of turmoil. If he were to be removed, anarchy would reign. I am waiting for an opposition faction to form. Currently it is little more than a hazy concept, but I’m encouraging it. The Finns who live there are innocent … at least where Laukkanen’s actions are concerned. They don’t deserve a civil war, and I’m not going to start one.”

When they had finished their snack, the Ambassador asked, “So are you going to grant the American States an embassy?”

“I am. In fact, what I intend to do is press for a Constitutional Convention, to get Arendelle on the way to being a representative republic. I think studying their model will be of significant help.”

“… Wait. You mean the same way they are? No royalty?”

“Correct.”

“But you’re the Queen!”

“And one of the most difficult tasks I will face will be convincing my people that they don’t need me. I don’t expect that this will happen overnight. But perhaps inside a decade I will be able to abdicate and turn over the reins to a Parliament.”

“Why would you even _do_ that?”

She rose and went to the window, unlatching it and pushing it open. A moment later, a small blue-white bird flew in and lit on her shoulder. Turning back to Fonseca, who had followed her, she said, “Do you see this?”

He’d been a bit taken aback by the obviously tame character of the bird … but then he noticed the sunlight glinting _through_ it. He whispered, “My God.”

“Ambassador, my sister left me a lengthy note explaining why she took her life. In it, she asked me to do something for her. And a few months ago, I decided I would do just that. In fact, I made that promise to her spirit.”

He was still fascinated by the bird. “Is it … alive?”

“After a fashion. It doesn’t have real intelligence, but then flesh-and-blood birds don’t either. It does, however, follow my commands. And it gathers information for me.”

His head whipped up. “That’s how you can see the King!”

A short nod answered him.

“And … and the sea monster …”

“Yes.”

“My God.”

Moving back over to her chair, she took a seat and gave the Ambassador a bland, pleasant look. “Let me ask you a question, if I may.”

“Um … sure.”

“Is piracy a problem for Portugal?”

That wasn’t a direction he’d been prepared for, and it took him a few breaths to regroup. “Well, historically, yes. It’s dropped off some in recent decades, but still can be a problem in the South Atlantic. Why do you ask?”

“Anna asked me to do what I could to stop other evil men from harming other innocents. I’ve taken that on as something of a crusade.”

“Ah … well, I suppose that’s what you’re doing with the Duke of Turku.”

“In a manner of speaking. Mainly, in his case, I’m just letting him do the leg-work of finding more assassins. Eventually he will exhaust the supply.”

“So you’re doing this to kill assassins?”

“That’s one goal. But I can’t take the time to locate them myself. Typically they keep a low profile, and don’t stand out from the crowd, so they are difficult to spot. And for the time being, I do have a kingdom to run.”

“What does that have to do with pirates?”

“You should see a precipitous drop in piracy over the next few months.”

He got her meaning … and couldn’t quite suppress a shudder. “Um … to, ah, what extent?”

“At present, just in the Atlantic. One’s own yard should be well-kept before one begins to inspect the neighbors, don’t you think?”

“… Right.”

“That’s another thing compelling me to end the monarchy in Arendelle. I need to devote all my energies to this task, and I can’t do that and be Queen at the same time.”

“So … how many …”

“Over a hundred ships, so thousands. Perhaps tens of thousands. I haven’t really kept accounts.”

“… I had no idea there were that many pirate ships in the first place!”

“Ah. Well. Some pirates. Some slavers. Some privateers. A few naval vessels that were terrorizing innocents. Oh, and the rest of Weselton’s Navy. I did spare most of those sailors, though.”

He nodded faintly. “Of course.”

“I also expect that my activities will eventually garner me a large measure of animosity. I don’t want my people to suffer because of it, and abdication will see to that.”

“… You fear for your life?”

“Fear? Ha. No. There is no fear of death left in me. But I do feel a certain responsibility, and it would be irresponsible to place Arendelle in the crosshairs of international condemnation. So I will abdicate ‘for my declining health’ and retire to seclusion. Probably somewhere in the Americas.”

They sat together in silence for a couple of minutes. The city clock tower chimed noon. Elsa got that disconnected look on her face again.

“Well, Ambassador, it has been a pleasure, but I have another appointment at one, and I still have a bit of preparation beforehand. And something else just came up.”

“Of course.

She rose, allowed him to kiss her hand, and then moved toward the door. “I’ll have the Guard see you to your chambers. I trust you’ll be available for the state dinner this evening?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Have a pleasant afternoon.” As she walked by the open window, another ice-encrusted, would-be assassin floated in. She patted his head and said brightly, “How nice: two for one! Let’s go view the gardens, shall we?”

The Ambassador drew a long, relieved breath, poured the bottle of _akvavit_ into his mug, and tossed it off at a draught.

_ Fin _


End file.
